


speak the silence you wrote

by heizl



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2019, Childhood Memories, Daddy Issues, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Gen, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark Friendship, Post-Avengers (2012), Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Protective Jarvis (Iron Man movies), Tony Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-13 08:19:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19247374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heizl/pseuds/heizl
Summary: Tony gripped either side of the wooden podium, speaking freely into the abundance of microphones that were attached. “One thing I’ve been asked since 2008— seriously, it’s like a records broke in some of these reporters— and no, not when Pepper and I are finally putting a ring on it; it’s when I'm going to write my book. And, I’d never considered myself to be much of the writing type, as you see here. I’m a talker. I’m not so sure about that either, because I tend to rant without completing a viable sentence— my hands don’t work the way they do when I’m melding seams to metal.“The most mundane request I get is to share my story. The tale of the ‘great Tony Stark’. No,” he forced out a laugh, derisive and caught in his throat, “no one wants to hear about Tony Stark. They want marketable Iron Man picture books, where he cuts cakes at birthday parties and does balloon tricks. Because that’s what the Avengers are to public eye. We’re circus freaks, outcasts to society, dancing monkeys."He took in a breath. “I am Iron Man, but that’s not who I am.”--Or, the one where Tony decides to write a book, but has no idea what he's doing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lets_call_me_Lily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lets_call_me_Lily/gifts).



> *The amazing [artwork](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19280077) this story was inspired by.
> 
> Woah, I can't believe this thing is finally done. I've never done a big bang before, and honestly my life got super hectic since signing up for this, but! It was super fun, Tony has always been one of my favorite characters in the MCU, but I rarely ever get around to writing him. So this both proved as a fun challenge, and also kind of relaxing too, because I put a lot of myself in Tony lmao
> 
> Anyways, I'm pretty happy with the end results of this now. I'm going to finally sleep now since I basically stayed up all night trying to get this done... :-|
> 
> Big shout out too to all the people who I used as my sounding board over the past few months for this project and also helped beta this for me, including Lore, because without you this story wouldn't exist 
> 
> Also, I made a quick [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLCEGUbwmTEWBfAcMtJwGsqiGRE_aMLZY4) of some of Tony-centric songs I listened to while writing this if you'd like to give it a play while reading.

 

  

 

 

**Conference Center, Pasadena **

 

"You can do this, Tony." Pepper’s lips were moving, and in a way, Tony could still hear her, or at least felt like he could because he could read what she was _trying_ to say, but his own heart was thumping in his ears and the blare of a light that made it through a gap in the heavy velvet curtains that separated the backstage from the front made his eyes crinkle in the corners.

Her fingers were working their way around his silk tie and, to hell with concentration— his thoughts bounced from one to the next, like fast moving clouds that he could only see the vague shapes of. He couldn’t _remember_ when he amassed such a large collection of ties, in every color and sleek pattern you could think of, but that’s how he felt about a lot of things he owned.

Wasn’t even sure why he had multiple drawers lined with Rolexes or a closet jammed with designer button downs, but it might’ve had something to do with the fact that: that was how his dad was. Collected things to make up for the nothingness he felt inside. Relatable. You always _do_ end up becoming your worst fear.

“Tony,” she was louder this time, but everything still felt like he was trapped behind a sheet of plexiglass. Suffocating and no one would let him out of this damn glass box.

Pepper was looking at him through those long, blonde lashes of hers. Whenever she wore heels, she matched his height, and Tony liked that. He didn’t always have to be the bigger man. He _knew_ Pepper was tougher than him in most ways. He’d never deny that.

“Pep.” His own voice, deaf to his ears but rough in his throat. Each syllable an individual swallow of glass. He couldn’t fuck this up. He didn’t want to disappoint Pepper. He didn’t want to let down Rhodey, and Happy, who he _knew_ were squirming in their seats, eagerly waiting for the show to begin with as much knowledge as the reporters around them.

See, Tony’d sort of called for a press conference, without telling anyone _what_ it was for. Without even having a decent outline written of what he wanted to say. Without knowing what he wanted to say. He was just having another one of those moments where he was staring down at a bottle of Lexapro, hyperventilating and feeling like he was six feet deep in a bucket of ice cold water. Screaming for anyone, gasping for air, and this is all he could think of.

Call for a conference to _talk_ out what was making his mind race, like a giant therapy session, because he was sick of disappointing everyone. He was tired of being seen as the bad guy.

He wanted to be seen as Tony Stark to the world. Not sure what that meant exactly, but, it’d been a thought that’d come up one late night on the way back from a mission. Natasha was nearly passed out with Clint at her side, and Bruce was idly fiddling his thumbs, humming along to whatever he’d had on his iPod as a means of distraction.

Steve was sitting across from him, and the silence was lingering. It was quiet enough to hear crickets. But there weren’t any crickets 38,000 thousand feet in the air.

“ _You don’t happen to have a pack of cards, do you_?” A half smirk played across his thin lips, and Tony wanted to scoff, but he simply shook his head. His arms were crossed and his right shoulder was giving him a hell of a headache, sore enough to make him grit his teeth. Sure talking would’ve passed the time easier, but out of all the people he’d pick to talk to, Steve was last.

_"You know what really sounds like a good idea? Getting some shuteye. There’s an idea everyone can agree on.”_ Tony had said with a forced yawn, but when he squinted one eye open, Steve was only looking towards the cockpit, shadows cast across his set jaw. His brows were furrowed.

“ _Someday you’ll stop hiding behind that mask around me, Anthony.”_

 One thing that seemed to come easy to Tony: fucking things up. Even if it wasn’t his mess to begin with, he always wound up with the blame, and it was natural at this point for him to accept it.

“Breathe.” Pepper reassured. Her nails were rough against the nape of his neck, fingers twirling with the curls of his hair. Her arms loosely draped over him and held him in place.

 Maybe he was jealous of Pepper in ways. Or rather, envious, because she stood up for herself in aspects that Tony could never imagine doing for himself. Tony’s method of dealing with life was this: let himself get kicked over and over again until he whimpered like a wounded animal in silence, to himself only, and then figure out a way to hide the pain he felt and create _more_ armor to isolate himself from the world even further.

Pepper, though anal and very uptight at times (which is why she was so damn good at her job), was carefree and she could smile and mean it. She had hobbies that weren’t solely work related (like she enjoyed kicking back with a good ol’ acoustic guitar and possibly sewing a dress or two, though not simultaneously), and she could spend a day alone with herself without driving herself completely insane.

He envied her, because that’s all Tony ever really wanted. To be a friend of himself, the friend he needed growing up. The friend Rhodey eventually became to him, but maybe a few years too late, because his brain still longed for something. He was the man that had everything, and yet, nothing.

"I _am_ breathing," he whispered, because that was all he could do right now. Whisper and ground himself. His hands cupped her waist.

"No you're not. You've been standing here for the past five minutes, pale as a ghost and stiffer than a statue," there was a smirk playing on her lips. "You're the one that wanted to do this, you know. No one is forcing you to speak, _today_."

"Yet, for some reason, God knows what that reason is," now he shared his own knowing smile, "it doesn't feel that way."

"Honey." She pressed their foreheads together. "Are you going to tell any of us _why_ you called for a conference? Because if I knew why, maybe I could actually calm your nerves so you don’t..."

“Completely freak out and hyperventilate in front of two hundred people?”

“That would be our best case scenario.”

He glanced towards a digital clock on the wall behind Pepper’s shoulder, ticking away. “Would you look at that, it’s almost show time. You’re going to have to find out with everyone else- you and me both.”

Pepper’s fingers kept twirling and each brush of quick contact felt electric against his skin. Everything was making him a little on edge, and usually with Pepper in his arms and the scent of her perfume lingering in the air, he’d feel at ease. But he wasn’t, and his nerves were buzzing, and he just wanted to crawl out of his skin and hide.

"Tony, you'll be fine. Just don't do anything stupid."

"You say that like it's easy."

"Stark," a man, his gray suit neatly pressed and impeccably tailored, was tapping a pen against a clipboard. "If you want the stage, we have to go now. You're not the only one booked here today."

Push came to shove, literally, as Pepper gave him a small pat on his back. He wasn’t going to do some dramatic entrance today; no showgirls, no grandeur presentations.

He simply walked around towards the front of the stage and entered where the curtains parted. The spotlights were even worse when they were at their full rage; glaring down at him like the sun in a sandy desert. The audience was only a mirage to him, blurry and— why was the room suddenly moving?

He stepped up to a podium center of the stage, ten microphones from various local news outlets screwed down to it. One deep breath and another inhale, he let himself focus on Rhodey and Happy, sitting front row.

There were a lot of things that Tony _was_ good at: coming up with spontaneous plans for any impromptu disaster, crafting away with metal, and bullshitting things that _sound_ good in theory, but have no real meaning to them.

He licked his lips and cleared his throat.

“One thing I’ve been asked since 2008— seriously, it’s like a records broke in some of these reporters— and _no_ , not when Pepper and I are finally putting a ring on it; it’s when I'm going to write my book. And, I’d never considered myself to be much of the writing type, as you see here... I’m a talker, on occasion. I’m not so sure about that either, because I tend to rant without completing a viable sentence— my hands don’t work the way they do when I’m melding seams to metal. I’m not— I’m not good with words. Evidently.” With a pause, feedback rung throughout the speakers, and it made his nerves tense just a bit more.

“Out of the only nine _thousand_ press conferences I’ve, no, _we’ve_ ,” he gestured to the, now trio because Pepper was patting Rhodey’s knee as she crossed her own legs, sitting front row, “been to in the past seven years, the most pestering and mundane request I get—  and I’m calling this mundane because _everyone_ and their grandmother says they’re going to write a book at some time in their life— is to share my story,” he scoffed. “Share my story. What does that even mean.

“The tale of the ‘great Tony Stark’. No,” he forced out a laugh, derisive and caught in his throat, “no one wants to hear about Tony Stark. They want marketable Iron Man picture books, where he cuts cakes at birthday parties and does balloon tricks. Like a clown. Because that’s what the Avengers are to public eye. We’re circus freaks, outcasts to society, dancing monkeys.

“They don’t want to hear one word of who I really am—  who _we_ are, behind the masks and blue prints and fancy spandex suits. Tony Stark— the name the world begrudgingly turns their nose to and points blame at. Yet, you can’t seem to get enough of me, huh.”

It was at this point Tony looked to the side of the stage, his knuckles whitening against wood. Though this conference was, completely,  his idea, he also wasn’t sure quite what he expected.

Magazines calling him closed off and out of touch with reality. His own _teammates_ with their warped perception of who _Tony_ was. Anxiety more often than not fueled Tony, and even without a loose outline of a script, or an idea of what to say, it almost felt freeing that he could just let his thoughts out there. For the public to hear.

He cleared his throat. He was always expected to say things that pleased others; he _was_ a people pleaser, but more than half the time it was forced. Made to attend a charity benefit for an organization he’d never heard of (which is why his list of parties he was invited to nowadays was at a staggering low).

There were genuine selfless things he loved to do; every year he surprised Rhodey on his birthday, didn’t matter what part of the world either of them were in. He was always there for him, with his favorite German chocolate cake in tow and far too many candles.

One year, on a trip to Newbury (an actual personal trip for once, where him and Pepper could go sightseeing and not have to worry about meetings for a day), they ironically bumped into Julian Fellowes. It’s not like he recognized him at first, until Pepper kicked his foot under their dinner table and whispered that he was the writer of Downton Abbey.

Lord, did he know _too_ much about that show. He’d seen every episode, six times each. He’d been to Happy’s Downton Abbey themed parties, where he’d quote lines from those damn episodes.

Maybe a Skype call with the shows creator wasn’t what Happy deserved; he deserved way more than some laggy video call. But he still brought it up sometimes when they talked over a cup of coffee.

“You know what my response is to that question? The same one that’d I’d rehearsed only for every interview and press conference ever. _Never_ . That’s my answer. What else do you expect me to say? I mean, now it’s all semantics because here I am, _planning_ a book while complaining about the very thing I refuse to do.”

A camera flashed and it made Tony blink for a long second. He watched his friend’s faces as they watched him, like they were studying him.

“See, my dad— When I was digging through his shit that he never cared to will to anyone or even throw out, and instead let rot in a warehouse in Brooklyn for however long it'd really been collecting dust there— I'd found the beginning workings to a book. His typewriter was still in the position of finishing off a sentence, though only God knows what that would've been. There were a few loose pages, tossed around in boxes. Mostly water stained. Some filled with doodles.

“That seems like the thing he'd do, write a book. It makes sense, really. As much as I love thinking about myself and appreciate the grooming — let's not be crass here— Tony Stark and nostalgia don't go hand in hand.”

Another lie Tony knew deep down. He remembers every moment he spends with people, the jokes they tell him, the smiles they offer. The kids he’s met at hospitals, the seventeen year old kid living in a one bedroom apartment that he shared with his four sisters and mother, from Kansas, that he could offer a grant to.

He was sentimental, about many things. But the junk he liked to surround himself with… he preferred cars over handwritten letters and his days off spent downing Blanton’s while bent over a new piece of unpainted sheet metal.

“I am Iron Man,” Tony sucked in his lower lip, glancing at Rhodey, who offered him a nod, “but that’s not _who_ I am.”

 

* * *

 

 

** Stark Mansion, Malibu **

 

He wanted to dodge as many questions as he could, and so he planned a quick getaway using his trusty disguise; a baseball cap, an old leather jacket and a pair of sunglasses he didn’t wear as often.

 

**4:39 PM**

I’m leaving. Meet you back at home, yeah?

 

**Rhodes- 4:40 PM**

Course man.

 

**Rhodes- 4:40 PM**

You did good, Tony

 

**4:41 PM**

You warm my heart

 

**Rhodes- 4:41 PM**

I try my best :)

 

What he didn’t seem to calculate was how obsessed every reporter was going to be with this story; though they couldn’t pester him for details (that didn’t stop them from trying to squeeze answers out of Pepper, and Happy even), his face was on every channel he flipped to.

‘Iron Man’s latest stunt’ seemed to be the common headline for most channels. Christ, even _Buzzfeed_ had posted about him.

Which wasn’t unusual, for Tony to be a hot buzzing topic. But it seemed pointless. All because he gave some half-assed… speech? Lecture? Guess he just talked _at_ everyone as he tried to process his own thoughts and emotions and said he was writing a book. Was that really that big of a deal that everyone felt the need to buzz with their own speculations on what it would be about, or better, _why_ he announced this right now?

He’d already seen some articles with comment threads where people said this was just another cover up for some building the Avengers had blown up and didn’t want to draw attention to. There could be validity to that statement, or… maybe there was a lot of validity to that statement, because Tony felt guilt from _every_ innocent life they put in the way of their own ‘Avenging’. But that’s not what this was about.

The better way of putting it was, maybe: midlife crisis.

He sighed as he clicked off the tv. Pepper was in the kitchen with Natasha; he never understood the friendship between those two. He assumed Pepper grew a softer side for her once actually learning who _Natalie_ really was. But he never got the hint that they liked each other. Tony wasn’t good at reading others emotions though, so he was probably the worst judge.

He had one foot kicked up on their glass coffee table. They’d gotten a new one recently, but no one seemed to mind that his shoe was dangerously close to the edge of a pizza box. And, yes, _a_ , because there were about ten stacked up. Alongside a couple of glasses of some expensive champagne Happy had dug up from Tony’s personal collection.

Yet, he was the only one that had let his glass fizz, to the point that it started perspiring.

Rhodey and Happy were sitting on either side of Tony, but they were almost leaning across his damn lap as they talked about holiday plans and caught up. And even further in the distance, of noise that Tony had slowly learned to tune out, was the faint murmur of one of his records.

Kicking his foot down (and now he _did_ touch the side of one of the still full boxes, making Rhodey roll his eyes), he hunched over. His elbows were to his knees and he felt like his skin was too tight. Like he was trapped inside a sleeping bag, too hot and not enough air and the zipper was jammed shut.

He wanted to be around company, of the people he could truly say he loved. But, he also felt caged, which really wasn’t a new feeling for him.

But, then his muscles tightened. He felt a similar sensation of pin pricks travel up the back of his neck, and it reminded him of his family’s tailor. His mom had known him since they were kids, and sure, he knew how to handle fabric like no one’s business, but he still always managed to poke Tony _somewhere_ when taking in a jacket.

Rhodey’s hand clapped his shoulder, his fingers gripping him. It was the little things that really made Tony feel safe with him. The reassurance, the comfort. His smiles were always so genuine, with his teeth shining and eyes happy. “Hey man. The hardest parts over. You have to keep telling yourself that.”

“Pft,” Tony blew out a puff of air. Sometimes, he couldn’t believe they’d been friends for as long as they had. It still seemed surreal to him that he even made it out of his own childhood. “As if.”

“No, he’s actually right, you know,” Happy said, plating himself another slice of pizza. Its cheese was maybe too gooey as a string of cheese, reminiscent of something you'd only see in cartoons, hung from the slice to the box. Still was the best pizza place in Malibu. "The first step of any project is saying you're starting it. Then… you just gotta do it."

“Which is exactly what I don’t know _how_ to do.”

 He felt a vibration come from his pocket.

 

**Banner-** 7:48 PM

Congrats?

 

He sighed. He wanted to unplug the tv, just fucking throw it out all together. Maybe he’d add his phone and make it a pair.

“What was your dad writing about?”

“What?” Tony turned to look at Rhodey.

“You said you found what he was writing. Did you read it?”

“Do you think I’d actually read whatever shit he wrote?” Tony ran his teeth along his lower lip, “of course I didn’t.”

“I think what he’s trying to get at is,” Happy added, then muttered, “—dang, this is good— did he also do an autobiography?”

“I’m _sure_. He loved going on and on about the many things he accomplished in his life, the Manhattan Project, his secret spy missions— Steve. You know, he never shut up about that guy.”

“Are you going to write about them?”

“Who? The,” Tony looked taken aback, his brow quirked at Rhodey. “The Avengers?”

He nodded. “They’re part of your life, aren’t they?”

Tony snorted, crossing his arms against his chest. He leaned his back against the couch. “You’re part of my life,” he looked at Happy, “ _you’re_ part of my life, Pepper’s part of my life. These demigods and war heroes aren’t.”

“What about Natalie— er, Natasha?”

“Nat,” Rhodey wagged his finger at him.

“I guess, because she’s more like family than anyone else from that clusterfuck is.”

“What about the science guy?”

“I mean, sure him too— that’s not what I want to write about.”

“Then what _are_ you writing about?”

Tony closed his eyes. The world still had these golden specs on when they looked at Howard Stark, like he was the man that shaped the world. This interesting playboy that did no wrong. But that wasn’t the world he’d created in Tony’s eyes.

Just like how Rhodey wasn’t a colonel to him— he was his best friend that’d been there for him through the thick and the thin, closer than even the bond he’d built with Jarvis or Obadiah, combined.

“I don’t know.”

“Boys,” Natasha called from the kitchen. Tony looked over his shoulder, Pepper tapping on her glass with a knife. “Get your asses in here.”

Maybe Tony was just feeling sluggish, but he didn’t want to get up. His feet didn’t want to work like feet should. Though Rhodey looped their arms together and tugged him to stand, he still didn’t want to move.

Happy was carrying both of their glasses of (untouched, and mostly gone) alcohol, and now Tony had no choice in moping. At least in the moment.

“I think the night calls for a toast,” Pepper smiled towards Tony, raising her own glass. Happy had handed the one to Tony. “Don’t you?”

“I agree. _And_ a speech,” Natasha added, wearing her trademark half smirk as her eyes twinkled with a mischievous glint.

“Yeah man, you did a great job earlier. You can give another speech on the spot, can’t you?” Rhodey slung his arm around Tony’s shoulders.

“That was really made up as you went along, huh?”

“Uh huh. God, do I have to?”

“It’s mandatory, Stark.”

Tony looked to Pepper, with pleading eyes but she nodded.

“Fine. Here’s to nothing,” he scratched his neck before clinking glasses with everyone, mumbling,”God knows what I’m doing.”

“Hey,” Rhodey chuckled, “maybe that could be the title of your book.”

“Shut up.” Tony grumbled into his glass, taking a long swig. Everyone around him was cheerfully talking, Pepper with a hand on her hips and Natasha leaning against their granite countertops. Rhodey was always one to talk wildly with his hands, and Happy did this sort of squinty eye stare when he was really listening.

Everyone was in such a good mood that it made Tony clench his jaw. His teeth ground together, and it hurt, made the hair on his arms raise. But he didn’t want to be here anymore. That sleeping bag was closed too tight, no holes for air.

He abruptly set his glass down, nostrils flaring. “I gotta go.”

Pepper looked at him, lips parted. “You have to go? Go _where_?”

“Go think. I’ll be back.”

“Wait, Tony,” Rhodey said, but Tony was already making his way towards the door at olympic speed. He grabbed a jacket hanging up beside the door and fetched his sunglasses from their key bowl (even though it was too dark to need them at this point, it was just muscle memory).

He opened the door, but only closed it a moment later, looking over his shoulder. Everyone was still standing in the kitchen. No one looked his way. And so he took that as an opportunity to sneak downstairs, to the one place that offered him maybe too much comfort.

His workshop. 

 

* * *

 

He tapped away on the outside of the glass door to his workshop. And then, within seconds, metal clicked and the door locked behind him.

He tossed his glasses into a pile of about six others, hung his jacket over a chair, and breathed in the still lingering fumes of industrial paint.

“Daddy’s home.”

“Good evening, sir.”

“Good evening to you too, Jarvis.” He scanned his workshop. He’d thought about remodeling at awhile back, but… when you’re always tossing shit around and denting the walls, he didn’t know if there was really a point anymore.

He had everything he needed; an open space, surround sound speakers with a subwoofer, a half-functioning robot that ninety percent of the time cleaned up after his messes (he waved his fingers at Dummy, the robot letting out a sad mechanical sigh), and all the building material he could ever need.

“What’ve you been up to?” Tony traced his hand along the edge of his computer desk. The surface was chipped, and there were slices from Exacto blades. But it had story.

“Waiting for you.”

“Really? That sounds awfully boring.”

“It is, sir.” Tony chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Actually, I’ve been observing the news.”

“Ah,” Tony felt his jaw lock again. “Hey, it’s way too fucking quiet in here. Play something good, will ya?”

“Any suggestions?”

“Surprise me.”

“As you wish.” With a melodic starting strum of a guitar, the chorus of ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go’ by The Clash slowly boomed. There was the life he needed in his workshop. Jarvis always _did_ have a good taste in music.

“ _Nice_!” Tony silently cheered, raising his arms above his head. With his fists clenched, he pumped his left one, his hips slowly following the rhythm he created. His eyes traveled over towards Dummy, the robot cocking its little claw. “Dance with dad, c’mon.”

The robot let out another sad sounding chirp and Tony rolled his eyes, groaning. “Jarvis, quick. If you had a lifesize form, would _you_ dance with me?”

“Oh, I’m not sure about that. I’m sad to say I’ve been programmed with two left feet.”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Tony spat over a punched out laugh. “I wouldn’t do that to you, buddy.”

“Then, I must say, that’s my own personal choice.”

“That you have two left, hypothetical, feet?”

“Yes.” Jarvis simply replied.

Tony’s brows raised, before he nodded and returned back to a normal standing position. With one hand, he closed his fingers together, signaling for Jarvis to pause the music. “Music, off. Kill the lights too.”

“As you wish.”

“I like this vibe too,” Tony rubbed his thumb across his chin; his hairs poked his skin. With everything flickered off, the only light that remained in the room were a few dim bulbs surrounding the small living room space he had. The only sound left was a low hum of his computer’s fan.

“What’s your favorite color?” Tony asked, his eyes darting across the parade of cars he had parked in front of his gallery of suits. Would it be the Silver Ghost Rolls Royce or the Bugatti Veyron Vivere by Mansory today?

“Not as flamboyant as your tastes- but, a warm orange is always oddly comforting.”

“Huh.” Tony clicked his tongue. “The old lambo it is then.”

He threw himself into the car, slamming the door shut. And as soon as his back touched the seat, his hand sprawled across his face and his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. He sighed. He didn’t even know he was sighing until Jarvis said anything about it.

"Sir.”

"Mm?” Tony grunted. His shoulder cramped again, and it only made his forehead crease.

"If this isn't too intrusive, I know it's not a common ritual of yours to sigh in your cars. The dancing is understandable. But, this, I’m not so sure about."

"Is that your way of asking me how I am?"

Tony had heard Jarvis laugh before, on a handful of occasions. The first time he’d told him his infamous omelette joke, he’d lost it, practically in hysterics. And there was a soft chuckle he’d given him now as he said, "precisely."

"You suck at conversation, you know that?"

"I have you to thank for that, sir."

"You got me there," Tony rolled his eyes. "I’m just overwhelmed. Stressed. Trapped. I’m- it’s fine, bud.”

“All because of the book?”

“How did you— no, nevermind. The news. You’re _spying_ on me.”

“As false, or true, as that may be, your announcement _did_ make headlines all across the globe.”

“Right. Yeah, because of the book. Because I don’t know what to write about. Or, _how_ , for that matter. Grad papers on string theory and quantum mechanics are a lot different than writing…”

“An autobiography.”

“I guess. I don’t know, is that what this is?”

“Is it?”

“I was hoping you’d answer that for me.”

“I only know as much as you, sir.”

“I think you know a lot more than I do, Jarvis.”

There wasn’t a response to that, and so Tony took the silence as a yes.

“What is troubling you?”

Tony looked out the tinted window of the lambo. The seats were worn, and there were decent scratches to the glass from debris that flew by him as he sped down empty desert roads when he’d go out for joyrides every now and then.

He doesn’t even know where to begin. That question… Too much was troubling him. But then, it was like nothing at all because someone seemed to have flipped the reset switch in his brain. His mind is blank, and it was like he was suffering a severe (and permanent) case of stage fright. He can’t remember anything he wants to remember, and only the things he doesn’t.

“Let’s try this question instead,” he tapped his nails against the leather of the steering wheel. “What do you think is interesting, Jar?”

“Interesting could mean many things; for example, Tony, I think you are interesting, with the way you are avoiding the topic of you being troubled. Or, I also find it quite intriguing how people will spend hundreds of dollars collecting figurines of miniature pigs. ”

Tony frowned.

“I am sorry, is that not the response you wanted?”

“Far from it, actually. What do you find interesting in _people_?”

“I’ll have to think on that one for a moment,” then Jarvis went quiet. Tony held his breath as Jarvis took one of his own. “I guess the concept of emotions is quite fascinating to me.”

Tony slumped further into his seat and gestured loosely with a hand. “Elaborate.”

“Love. I’ve always been curious about it.”

“You can’t feel love?”

“I suppose, in a sense. From my understanding of it. There’s an amount of emotion I can feel; for instance, I do feel quite an overwhelming sadness when there’s another news report of terrorist activity, or when innocent lives are lost, which does make it complicated to always be attached to you. But then I do know I have a love for knowledge, or that what you have described to me about Rhodes, how he is oftentimes your rock, I feel a similar connection with you.”

Tony scratched his arm, opened his mouth to say something but then he sucked in a breath. He didn’t know _what_ to say to that. “What are you curious about then? About love.”

“How it would feel to fall in love. Or, what it would feel like to be touched. Or to touch.”

Tony laughed, soft. Not in a mocking way, or because Jarvis said anything funny, but he was just simply… amused by him. “Do you dream?”

“Occasionally. But more often than not, I am always awake in case my assistance is needed.”

“So, what, you’re awake twenty four seven with your thoughts?”

“Is this self reflection or are you asking me?”

“That was… rhetorical, don’t answer that.”

“What is it that you want people to know about you?”

“That I’m not the monster they make me out to be.”

“Elaborate?”

Tony shifted and crossed one leg over the other. “Tony Stark is still the careless, self focused playboy that built weapons for twenty something years. He’s the guy that doesn’t play along with others and pays for all the Avengers’ stuff, but isn’t seen as anything more than a shiny mascot.”

“But you’re not that.”

“I’m not.”

“And you are?”

“You know, that, practically garbage can, I made in Afghanistan?”

“I wouldn’t call it that—”

“It was, Jarvis.” Tony snorted. “It served its purpose, but it was scrap metal pulled from three different misles. Wasn’t much different than a glorified toaster. But when I built that, those,” from the corner of his eye he focused on, unfinished, Mk. 31, “I thought it would help me. Others. Because with a suit of armor around the world, maybe it, the world, would become a better place. Safer from the weapons made by my dad, from the guys that want to kill me for protecting the world.

“But then it became less of that, and what it dwindled down to was just another thing for me to hide behind. It was three piece Gucci sets before titanium alloy and vibranium. I think I’m so scared of turning into my father that I’m just becoming even more like my father, the more I try to close myself off from reality and ignore my problems.’

Tony closed his eyes. He could hear Steve in his head. See those piercing blue eyes looking back at him, fueled with rage.

They were standing in Banner’s lab and Tony couldn’t even remember how the argument sprung to life, but he doesn’t think he’s ever really held a conversation longer than five minutes with Rogers. It always turned into an argument, someway or another.

“ _Big man in a suit of armor. Take that off, what are you?”_

He had to play it cocky, because he couldn’t see what his dad had seen in this guy. Just like he couldn’t see what others saw in his dad. He was too fueled by his own rage to get a second opinion. _“Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.”_

People thought he had the world made. Born into wealth, able to have anything, or anyone, he wanted. But he was trapped in a world of isolation. Being (one of the) only seventeen year olds at MIT wasn’t easy. He was at MIT, but it was like everyone looked through him. They only saw him for his money and anyone who talked with Tony just wanted to party with him, or sleep with him, or use him in one way or another.

Except for Rhodey.

_"I know guys with none of that worth ten of you.”_

_“What? Your old war pal, that you couldn’t even save? Where is he now? Did they forget to defrost him with you?”_

_“What’s your goal here? You want me to hit you?”_

_“I’m not opposed.”_

Steve looked away. _“I don’t know why you’re here.”_

_"The same reason you’re here, buddy_.” He clapped him on the shoulder. But Steve pushed him away.

_“No. The only thing you really fight for is yourself, and you know damn well that’s the truth.”_

_“You know, I respect that about you, Rogers. Your confidence. You seem to know all about me for having talked to me, what, maybe five, ten minutes beforehand?”_

_“It’s because I’ve met plenty of guys like you. The kind of guys who’d never make the sacrifice play, lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you.”_

_“I think I’d just cut the wire.”_

_“Always a way out… You know, you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero.”_

“I never said I was a hero. I never… joined the Avengers trying to prove I was better than anyone or worthy of anything. Maybe it was to fill a lack of something I was missing. Or to look out for the little guy.” He swallowed. “It’s hard, when you can’t save everyone. Maybe yourself included.”

 

 

* * *

 

The door to his studio unlocked, and Tony couldn’t be bothered anymore to even look over his shoulder. He had a pencil in one hand, pen tucked behind his ear, and crinkled, some ripped, pages of lined paper spread across his desk. He had a plastic spoon dangling from his mouth, empty Pinkberry cup behind his keyboard.

He again was falling into that flight or fight response and felt too tight. Too trapped and cooped up in his car, so he drove. He made the, very, adult decision to go to the mall and trudge to the food court, willingly standing in the far too long line for Pinkberry.

Hey, you were never too old for a refreshing cup of frozen yogurt, topped off with a mountain of gummy bears… right?

When he’d gotten his ass back home, he started Googling things, glued to his seat. And he’d been still stuck there, for the past two hours. Taking notes on what he _should_ write. Because everything was a business motto. All about the sales, the stock, the profit, the reviews and consumers. He had to sell. That was the point, right?

All of his notes had been crossed out, thickly, to the point he’d ripped holes in the paper.

His back ached something bad from, consciously, deciding not to get up because he thought if he stayed in one position long enough, the ideas would start flowing to his brain quicker (which, they didn’t, and instead he'd gotten lost in thought for about an hour with factitious plans of creating an 'anti-writers block' serum.)

“Hey.” He felt Pepper’s lips behind his ear, her hair tickle his neck. And he could feel the heat radiating from a cup of hot tea she held in her hand. “How’s it going?”

Tony groaned, and she squeezed his shoulder. “That bad, huh?”

“Please. You wouldn’t have come down here with _that_ ,” he took the cup from her, “if you thought it was going well.”

“I figured. But I didn’t want to assume.”

“But you did anyways.” He looked up at her, and she was smiling.

“I _really_ came down here to ask if you’d let me call a raincheck on date night.”

“What, busy writing your own book?”

“No, just managing _your_ company. And attending emergency meetings with the executive board directors.”

“At nine?”

“Emergency meetings have no time cutoffs, Tony.”

He spun around in his chair. “I think I could make an exception, Ms. Potts. Only on the account that my own schedule is _very_ busy.”

“Clearly…” she took the spoon from him. “You got Pinkberry without me?”

“I didn’t want to interrupt the party upstairs.”

“The party ended like, three hours ago.”

“The afterparty.”

“The afterparty never started.”

Tony gestured to her and he stood up, cupping her face. He kissed her forehead.

“Can you sit for a minute?”

“That’s all you get.” She smirked.

“And I _so_ appreciate it.” He went over to the couch with her. A few times a week, they tried to schedule in a movie night. Though they had a much bigger tv upstairs, they both preferred the solitude of Tony’s underground fortress.

His living room area was occupied by a few shelves, stocked with recent Blu-Ray releases and a few gaming consoles. The couch for once was surprisingly clean. Usually it’s so full of projects, that Tony would pull out collapsable chairs so they could sit down there, together.

“What’ve you been writing?”

“What?”

She pulled the pen from behind his ear and twirled it.

“Oh, yeah. Notes.”

“On?”

Tony’s lashes fluttered. “Everyone is always praising my dad. Saying how much of a good man he was— I get it, I saw the film. That’s bullshit. Every night my nanny would tuck me in and say goodnight while my dad was off doing— whatever he was doing, ignoring his family. And when he had the chance, _Jarvis_ would read me some of his favorite books.

“I don’t get what they see. I wish I could’ve known him. Known anything about him other than the shape of his back and how cold his shoulder felt.

“I wish I could see what they see, but my eyes aren’t clear enough. Everytime I even look at a photo of him, all I see is red… why doesn’t time travel exist yet? It’s,” he waved his hand, “2013, isn’t that future enough?”

“Sweetheart,” Pepper rubbed his bicep. “I think we were all a little surprised earlier when you _did_ mention your dad.”

“Yeah, well, as much as I resent the guy, he’s still always in my thought—”

His back curved and he glared back at his monitors. That was it. What if he could make a device that recreated or projected memories. There had to be a way to do that. His memories were buried deep in there somewhere, he just had to figure out a method of tapping into them.

“Tony,” Pepper tried again. She looked at him expectantly. “Mental blueprints?”

“More than just blueprints.” He nodded. “Alright, I have something I have to work on. Don’t you have a meeting to get to?”

“I’m actually a bit tired. You mind going for me?”

Tony stared at her.

“I’m kidding. Though, it is called Stark Industries, not Potts.”

“I think Pott Industry might send out the wrong message, Pep.”

She grinned and leaned forward to kiss him. “Good luck with your writing. Make sure you actually _do_ write something. Even if it’s just the date and your own name.”

“I’m getting there.”

“It’s never an easy process with you.”

“Come on babe, you know I’m extra.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The downside of having an inventors brain: there wasn’t an off switch, and it wasn’t like Tony could _invent_ one. Night only sent his imagination into hyperdrive— like the second the lights flick off and he’s laying there, in the dark, with nothing to focus on, that’s when his creativity juices flow the best. And that’s when he finds himself creating. Building. Or, as Pepper likes to call it, ‘tinkering’.

It’s honestly been that way for as long as Tony could remember. His dad had gotten into the film industry for awhile (rather, he was stepping further in the mass market weapons industry by the time Tony came into the picture), but he’d still spent his good share of time on sets. Exploring open costume wardrobes and getting into face paint.

That’s probably why he always _did_ feel comforted by being creative in one way or another. Because he grew up with it. Piecing together engines was similar to sculpting with clay, though a bit more… technical.

But, with every problem he’s ever encountered, he’s figured out a solution to it, because, it’s that inventor thing again. Him and Pepper shared a bed, and so there came the problem of: how do you get out your anxious building energy when your partner is trying to sleep?

The ‘ol hug and roll did its tricks. Usually. But he’d still wake up Pepper sometimes, and then when she’d wake up, the questioning would start: “ _Don’t you have enough suits?_ ” No. There’d never be a literal number that would be _enough_ for him. “ _Honey, can’t you just roll over and go to sleep?_ ” Also a hard no. The one problem he’d still never found a solution to. “ _Do you want me to come with you?_ ” He didn’t want to bother Pepper. To be frank, he still wasn’t sure _why_ she stayed with him, but he liked to not question it.

So he made his way out of bed with a combination of techniques; slowly pulling his arm away from Pepper and tossing himself over, as if he were fidgeting in his sleep. But with the lightest of steps, he shifted off their mattress and crept downstairs.

His mental folder of ideas was bursting tonight. It was always crammed in there, but his head felt like it was on fire. His fingers could only relax when he finally found himself sitting above a curved piece of metal, soldering iron in one hand. He’d changed into a pair of old sweat pants, the ones with spackle and burns all over them.

Melding the first seam together on the prototype of the headband he wanted to make made him realize… his new toy might be easier to make than he thought. A lot easier.

Hypnosis was a type of therapy that pulled repressed thoughts, buried deep within and kept behind padlocked treasure chests, to the forefront. If he could create a similar sensation, where he was in an almost sub-conscious dissociative state, he could pull those memories up, and read off of them. Translating brain waves into picture, that was a harder task at hand.

But if he could get his armor to attach to his body with a flick of his wrist, he could tackle this problem too. The only thing was, well, he was nervous. Because what if he wasn’t ready to remember. To see his dad, or lack of, from his perspective.

There was a reason he’d never read the pages from his childhood diaries. Because he didn’t _want_ to know. Burning them was the easier option. The _safer_ option.

The screen of his phone flashed; it was six sharp, the time Pepper woke up, every day. Normally, he’d always be back in bed by five fifty six, but he figured he could change up their routine that day.

He held the headband between calloused fingers a moment longer. Rough, unpainted and with sharp edges, reminiscent of a child’s craft project. But, it’s _exactly_ what he’d pictured. It’ll do what he needs it to do; produce a holographic recreation of everything, and anything, he can see mentally. His own personal play that he didn’t have to write, because it was already written.

It didn’t have to be fancy looking. That wasn’t the point of this invention.

He ventured back upstairs and he could already hear the water running from the shower upstairs. She’d always get up and hop in the shower, first thing. Then come downstairs and have a vanilla yogurt parfait, Greek and nonfat, with a dash of a cut up strawberries and the remains of a crushed up granola bar.

He’d gotten the table ready; a candle, scented like vanilla, lit in the middle and a cup of orange juice (because she preferred that over coffee, unless they had a _very_ rough night) beside her bowl of yogurt.

“This is a surprise,” she said with a grin, genuine and it only grew as Tony pulled her close, kissing her.

“Been up for a while anyways, figured I’d do something nice for you at least.”

His regular morning routine consisted of downing whatever caffeinated beverage they had in the house and reading the paper. He only skimmed the side columns and panned over the, more often than not, mind numbingly boring (and very crudely drawn) comics, because that at least gave him something to do.

With another kiss, she said her goodbyes and he wished her a good day. The coast was clear. He was alone. And that’s how he found himself sitting in their bedroom closet. The doors were shut tightly, damn near total darkness… no, actually, that’s an understatement. It _was_ total darkness, because all he could see was black. And the air was thick. He could almost taste the isolation of the room; so dark his secondary scenes went into overdrive.

Using his thumb, he flicked on a switch, and a very dim blue light shun. Still, the intrusion made him blink hard as his eyes tried to quickly readjust.

Like a projector, a small rectangle was cast on the wall, beige in color and blank. So far, so good. Except his breath was shaky. And so he tried to breathe, deep, with his eyes closed.

What would be a good memory to start with… well, it would help if he could bring up _any_ memory. He wasn’t necessarily picky anymore, he was just eager to see if this thing really worked. But, of course, his mind went from zero to a hundred in the span of a minute. From struggling to grasp what he did even five minutes ago to remembering too much.

Like the times he sat on his mom’s bed and waited for her to finish doing her makeup so they could look ‘presentable in public’, as she explained, always making them late. Or the mechanic fish he had growing up because his dad didn't want any animals in the house. Though, he _did_ find that thing pretty cool.

Then— aha!

Halloween, his junior year of college. It’s a musty car, floors looking like they hadn’t been cleaned in months, but at least there was an air freshener in the shape of a starfleet insignia. He could practically smell the faint traces of cheap booze and even cheaper cologne.

Rhodey’s sitting in the drivers’ seat, arms folded across the steering wheel. They’re parked along the streets of a crowded neighborhood, streetlights annoyingly bright. The area was jam packed of dorms, and even larger sorority houses, less than a mile up.

Tony remembered this. Him and Rhodey had been at another students party for most of the night. But, there’s only so much Pabst and girls all wearing the same skimpy nurse costume that a man can take before he decides to tap out and create his own fun. They were getting to the age already where they found pointless conversations more entertaining than loud (garbage) pop music and strangers they’d likely never see again.

Instead, their idea of fun for the rest of the night revolved around… the four packs of toilet paper they had shoved in the backseat of his car.

His eyes were wide open now, trained on the movie _he_ was creating. He wasn’t thinking anymore. He just felt as if he was actually _there_. Though, oddly enough, he was seeing himself from a birds eye view; he could see them both. A young Tony, his baby face clean shaven and lacking his trademark beard he only started to style when he’d started managing Stark Industries.

Rhodes sitting next to him looked just as much like a kid as he did. Both of them still wore dark circles, something else trademarked to the pair, and showed signs of stress, but they still looked youthful, and rested.

Tony was wearing this god awful leopard print bathrobe, plush and looking like something he’d hauled from a thrift store (though he doubts that was the case). It was so tacky there weren’t words to properly describe it, especially when he’d paired it with an ascot and a fake pipe that he pinched between his fingers.

There was a bright pink kiss mark on his cheek and a fresh hickey under his collar. Not intentional to the costume, but it fit the theme.

Tony wasn’t dressed up alone though. No, Rhodey was reciprocating his Halloween spirit by wearing a store bought _Batman_ costume, styled after the 1960’s show. Though his mask was lying in his lap and his cape was untied. He assumed they doing a Batman / Bruce Wayne sort of thing, but it really made present day Tony groan and ask _why_. He made a mental note to tease Rhodey about this someday down the line.

When Tony spoke, he didn’t register his own voice at first. It was quiet through the tiny speakers he’d wired into the headband. Like he was whispering, but he knew he wasn’t. "Where's our first target gonna be?"

He fiddled around with multiple buttons, clicking and wiggling them until he could hear himself a little better. If only he could figure out how to get subtitles too...

"That one," Rhodey pointed straight ahead of them. But, all Tony could tell was, it was somewhere off in the distance. The view through the windshield was obscured, like someone had left their curtains closed. "Kappa Alpha Thetea. Use to date a girl from there. Really nice, _very_ pretty. Until I forgot her birthday."

Tony felt himself smiling, much like his younger self was. "And then she broke up with you?"

"Yeah. Waited until October and broke up with me on _mine_."

"She sounds sweet,” Tony cooed as Rhodey smirked back in his direction.

"Alright," Tony clapped his hands together. "Let's do this."

It was like it was his first time experiencing the memory all over again. Anticipating the next part. He almost wanted a bowl of popcorn. His knees were tucked to his chest and, though this was one of his better habits, it was still awful— he bit the nail of his thumb.

Suddenly, everything faded to fuzz. Movie over, time to get the fuck out of the theater. It all stopped, and the light died, and his only company was the dark again. His lungs tightened, his head reaching up above his head to feel something, anything. The roughness of the wall behind him helped ground him.

“Why isn’t it working? Jarvis.” He was almost pleading.

"Sir, I'm sure there's plenty of logical reasons—"

"No, it should be working. Why isn't…"

With a sharp click of a lock being nudged open, the sliding closet door to their bedroom was ripped open and the only thing Tony could see was— well, nothing. He'd been preparing himself for the blinding daylight, and actually found himself wincing because he'd hoped it was at least closer to the afternoon now. But it was still dark out. His head rested against a sleeve of some last season Giorgio Armani suit. He could only see the off distance coastal lights of boats, and the outline of Pepper’s silhouette.

"Why isn't what working?"

"I thought you already left."

Pepper was looking down at him, and immediately he pulled the headband to rest around his neck, rubbing the heels of his palms under his eyes.

"I did. But then I got worried about you, so I came back."

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Actually, I think I really do.”

He didn't want to meet her eyes, because he didn't want to see her facial expression. The one he'd known by heart, the look she'd always give him before they even started dating. Like all she wanted to do was hold him close and take all the bad away, but also didn't want to ask, because Tony was a grown man and could deal with his shit.

Without seeing her body language, he could feel it. Could feel her mother hen come out. It was their own unspoken language. He'd known Pepper long enough, probably too long in some aspects.

But she cleared her throat, and that's when he saw it. Arms crossed, biting the corner of her lower lip, and lashes fluttering. Yep, the same expression he was expecting. And, it also gave him fleeting flashbacks to his nanny when she'd stared at her wristwatch and then at the strew of wire and broken bits of toaster oven across the dining table, with a hunched over Tony next to the destroyed pieces. She understood his frustration. Everyone in that household was witness to his frustration, at some point. And even through the language barrier, she tried to comfort him.

“ _Dios mío,”_ she whispered, which Tony always knew to say, “ _Lo siento_ ” to. “ _Tranquilo, cielo,_ ” is what she replied with. She called him cielo a lot, but he never knew what it meant.

Pepper asked, "you can't sleep?"

"When _can_ I?"

He wasn’t being sarcastic. It was the sad truth.

She crouched down next to him, taking the headband from his neck, holding it between both hands, gently. “What’s this?”

"New toy so I can… think better."

She looked at him expectantly, but he knocked his head back against the wall, chuckling. "It's not ready yet,” which still panicked him, but he knew he could fix it. Because that’s what he did. He made stuff and fixed it. Fixed his own messes, usually, and sure as hell fixed others. “I'll show you another time. How was your uh, meeting last night?"

"Oh," she rolled her head, sliding down to sit beside him, their knees touching. "Only horrible."

Now it was _his_ turn to look at her expectantly.

"The meeting itself was fine. Business is business. But then Phil," (" _Agent, you mean_ "), "showed up. He said he was in town and wanted to swing by."

"So… what's wrong with that? I thought you liked him."

"I _do._ But he walked me to my car."

" _And_?"

"He talked about this new podcast he started listening to. And then he _showed_ me the new podcast he'd been listening to." Her eyes were bouncing around the room, and the corners of her lips were fighting back twitches, like a tug of war to stay frowning, "Fifteen minutes. About tthe beauty of organic compost and how you can successfully start your own gardening business."

"I'm sorry, you said a podcast on compost? Like, the kind of thing they make from cow sh—"

She cut him off before he could go any further, eyes fluttering shut as she nodded along. Now he could see those lips curling, and her breath hitching as she tried to fight back laughter. Tony pushed himself to his feet, hand offered to her.

"Is that the end of the story, or are you going to elaborate on why he's making you listen to— a compost podcast."

"Ever since Coulson hasn't had much to fill his time with, you know, since SHIELD isn't a thing anymore and he’s still somewhat on a strict order of rest and recovery—"

"I get it."

"He's gotten into home renovation and... gardening."

“That’s interesting,” he hummed. Interesting was one way of putting it… He felt her hand slide over his forehead.

"You're doing okay? You feel warm."

"I'm fine, Pep." He smiled, but there was a lot of doubt in that smile. At least she was more worried about the faint fever he was running, and not the fact he’d holed himself up inside their bedroom closet. Bless that woman.

  


* * *

 

 

The days had gone by, and, at least Tony had been getting something vaguely resembling sleep. More like erratic power naps that lasted thirty minutes, tops. But there’d been points too when he’d pass out sitting up in his chair, body overriding his wants for needs.

He’d been living in his studio, brought down an air mattress and made a nest there. Hadn’t showered in days, hadn’t even changed the same Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt he’d been wearing, but he was too busy for that.

He was a disaster, and his studio seemed to match that. His desk was a disaster, littered with plates that were full of food crumbs, and mugs that were possibly growing… interesting surprises in them.

DVDs were piled on the floor, records weren’t stuffed back inside their sleeves, and there’d been a stack of engineering books he’d rented from the library that damn near matched his own height.

He had a sink, and his own mini fridge too. Had a coffee maker, a small wardrobe with a couple pairs of fresh shirts and washed jeans. But he didn’t have time to stop and wash a plate, or throw on a new pair of pants.

His fingers _had_ to keep moving. Like if he stopped for one minute, he’d completely forget what he was doing. He had to keep melding metal together and shocking himself with wires. He couldn’t fucking stop until:

Projected against the wall was that same box he’d been _yearning_ to see again. His headset gleamed a steadier, more opaque blue this time. He’d been sitting on the floor, wrenched on his thigh and a rag, dirted from oil, beside him.

He felt saliva building in his mouth as he whispered, “please work”, to no one in particular. He sucked down a shaky, cold breath and then blinked, hard.

The reel started. The scene started to play out. A long grass field, dandelions blooming, and further over was an open dirt field, tall fences around it.

Tony sat on the highest part of some metal bleachers. Kids were yelling excitedly and he watched them as they all walked by, short arms slung around each others’ shoulders. Some kids were exchanging baseball cards, others posing for pictures that their parents snapped with their Polaroids.

Tony wasn’t dressed like any of them. He sat in a pair of tailored Dolce & Gabbana jeans, accented with a dark blue pull over. The other kids hauled around worn in baseball bats and proudly wore their dirted uniforms. They all shared a similar, understood smile. Something Tony _wanted_.

One of the first problems his parents ran across that would change the rest of Tony’s life, started early. The question of: where to send him. Should he be home-schooled by only the best tutors in the area, or attend the richest private schools his parents could find?

He’d never been to a public school. And it didn’t matter if the schools he went to catered to families with wealth; he never fit in still. None of the other kids looked his way, and if they did, it was only because they were trying to get in their quick glances, to mock him.

That particular day, when Tony found himself again distanced from kids his age, his family had been out running errands. He was getting sick of jumping from store to store, not like any kid particularly _liked_ shopping. And it was Jarvis that had convinced Maria to let him go off on his own and get some fresh air, for at least a few minutes.

Tony said he wanted to go sit in the park; he wasn’t actually alone. Jarvis was keeping an eye on him from the car, but, that was something that Tony realized he treasured about Jarvis. He didn’t coddle him. He didn’t distance him either because he was a kid. He knew when Tony needed the company, and when he needed time to himself.

Little league had been something Tony always dreamt of. Because he wanted some normalcy in his life. Had every toy he could ever want, even more when it came to clothes. But it wasn’t like he could be like the other kids his age, even if he were in a public school, and enrolled in afterschool activities and karate classes (well, he did take some boxing lessons as he got older, but that was still suggested by his parents).

Didn’t matter if they lost all their money the next day, there were still things his parents expected from him. Still pressure placed on him, that if he didn’t succeed, then he might as well not try at all.

He couldn’t play ball with his dad. They never had proper family nights. His mom always gave him a goodnight kiss, but the other half never showed up. He wanted to run around the house and play hide and seek. In a way, his life was like one giant game of seek.

At one point, he’d asked about joining little league. With Jarvis watching over him, he walked into his dad’s office. He had his nose buried in some pamphlet, and without even looking up, he’d said, “sorry, Anthony, don’t have time.”

His favorite sound in the world: the school bell ringing. Sure, it brought some dread, because he knew what the rest of his night would be like. Maybe he’d be able to bake a little with his mom. He didn’t have to worry about getting his homework done, never did. He’d probably sketch something in his room. But, the boredom he struggled with at home was a million times better than the sheer awkwardness he felt at school.

He’d collected his things and waltzed down the hallway, hands clutching the straps of his backpack, when he saw Jarvis parked out front the school’s steps. He parked in that same spot every day, always waiting for him early.

He jumped in, taking the seat next to him, and Jarvis had turned to smile at him.

“How was school?” He always asked this. But, Tony knew he cared, even if the question did become a bit robotic by this point.

“Fine,” he replied, even more rehearsed.

“Learn anything new?”

“No,” Tony smirked, and Jarvis shared a similar expression. As he begun to drive down the street, he tapped his fingers against the steering wheel.

“May I ask you something?”

“Hm?” he hummed.

“Well,” Jarvis started, “I remember the other day, when we were out with your mother, you went to go watch that game, didn’t you?”

“Sort of. I wasn’t exactly watching it.”

“Oh, but I overheard your conversation the other day with your mother… about little league, again.”

Tony looked at him. His dark brows were raised. Jarvis pulled into a parking lot, twisting his torso to look at him. That’s when he gestured to a bag sitting in the back seat. Jarvis reached for it, pulling it onto his lap before unzipping it.

He pulled out a white uniform, much more pristine than what he’d seen the other boys parading in. But Stark, his own name was written across the back, above the number ‘91’.

“I took the liberty in signing you up myself."

"Does my mom know about this?"

Jarvis shook his head.

“My dad?”

"No, and I think it's best he doesn't." Jarvis offered a small, gentle smile. Fuck anyone that only saw him as the Stark’s butler. He was Tony’s only friend growing him. Sometimes the only person he could turn to and vent to; he’d been there for Tony, saw him off on his first day of college. His wife even had practically adopted Tony as her own son.

It was that next Saturday that Jarvis offered to take Tony out for ice cream. Howard was where he always was, and Maria got caught up in her own meetings.

They went to a hole in the wall mom and pop store, hidden among a strip of fancier stores and popular chain restaurants. The only place that had authentic Superman ice cream in Brooklyn, Jarvis said. Tony wasn’t sure what superman ice cream was, but he quickly learned to love it.

More often than not, people mistook Jarvis as Tony’s dad when they were out. Didn’t matter if they were with Howard too, people always assumed by the way Tony stuck to his side, that he was his parent. Not that Tony minded; he actually preferred when people thought he was his son, because it sometimes took away the embarrassment of being instantly recognized as the son of the ‘great Howard Stark’.

They sat in the store together, in a peaceful quiet, and Jarvis let Tony finish the last bite of his cone before he shrugged off the bag he’d been carrying over his shoulder and set it on the table. Tony’s eyebrows quirked as Jarvis unzipped it and pulled out his uniform.

He figured they weren’t just going out for _ice cream_. Jarvis usually took him out when his dad was in a fit of rage, or when he knew that Tony was uncomfortable at home. But, he couldn’t contain his grin this time.

He came out of the bathroom, dressed in his uniform. No stains and clearly all the wrinkles had been pressed out of it beforehand.

Zipping up the bag and slinging it over his shoulder, he plopped a baseball cap atop of Tony’s head before taking his hand and leading him back to the car parked outside.

When they arrived at the field, the team was just setting up. He felt a sense of nostalgia bubbling up in the pit of his stomach. There were some dads sitting on the sidelines and a mom dramatically talking to the coach, waving her hands along with every word she said. Jarvis gave him a gentle shove on the shoulder out of encouragement, leading him in the direction of the coach.

“Good afternoon,” Jarvis started. Tony twiddled his fingers nervously. Despite all his achievements and awards he’d been presented, all the speeches he’d have to give at his dad’s charity benefits for the sake of only being his son— he had always been a more shy and quiet kid. So what if he pressed himself against the side of Jarvis’ leg, like a security blanket. He didn’t like crowds, or people blatantly focused on _him_.

“Afternoon,” the man drawled out with a heavy drawl. He glanced down at a clipboard, licking his finger before flipping a page over. “Checkin’ in?” he offered a moment later.

“Yes, uh,” Jarvis cleared his throat, “it should be under Stark.”

“Stark, right,” he eyed Tony, before looking back to Jarvis. Being attached to the name Stark was like a curse. Anytime the name was mentioned, could’ve been whispered a decibel above coherent and there’d always be _some_ sort of reaction.

A flinch, a roll of the eyes because, jeez, not a _Stark_ . There’d been jealous glares from others’ parents when his own went in for parent-teacher conferences. Even if people didn’t know what Howard, or Maria, looked like, _everyone_ had an understanding of what ‘Stark’ meant, and _who_ they were.

They’d be out for dinner and other customers would look at them with envy. He didn’t know what was worse; the hounding photographers that wanted to snap shots of their family for the paper (God knows why), or the judgement no one seemed to hold back.

“And you are?”

“I, well,” but then Tony cut him off, tugging on his sleeve.

“He’s my dad.”

“Yes, his—” his mouth hung open, but Tony’s brows only raised in response. Jarvis didn’t question him or say otherwise.

The coach rechecked the paper before giving a nod, and then he dropped to a knee, offering a grin to the boy.

“Tell me son, do you like going by Anthony, or Tony?”

He looked at Jarvis, who nodded, then back at the man. “Tony…”

He was only known as Anthony by his parents. Called Anthony Edward when he was _really_ in trouble. He’d never been asked that before, what he _wanted_ to be called. Only Jarvis, and occasionally a few of the houseworkers that actually talked to him, called him Tony.

He’d realized, since… yeah, as long as he could remember, that he never liked the name Anthony. Too heavy of a name and it wasn’t… him. He wasn’t an Anthony. He was Tony Stark. It took awhile, but the name stuck.

With another rub to his shoulder, Jarvis nodded his head towards the bleachers and wished him good luck. Which he needed, because he’d never actually played baseball before, at least not with others. It was hard to find a suitable partner for catch (Jarvis had offered a few times, and Tony took him up, all except once), and his school didn’t exactly focus on sports, more than the occasional athletic test. They made sure they kept active and moving, but no one at a science-focused academy that taught college level classes to fourth graders was going to become a world renowned athlete.

He’d go out to their backyard and see how hard he could hit a ball; they had a strip of netting that peeked into their neighbors yard. Tony wasn’t sure why they had it, something about an overgrown tree, but it made for a good net. At least this was a positive way of letting his anger out.

And, he watched a fair amount of baseball on tv. Listened to the games occasionally; hell, Jarvis had even accompanied Tony and his mom a couple of times to see the Mets. Box seats and everything.

But he hadn’t gone to practice prior to this, and he didn’t know any of the kids, who all seemed to know each other. He waltzed over to the group of boys, and they scanned him from head to toe, like he was contagious, or maybe some sort of alien.

“Who’s the new guy?” one of them whispered to another, who only shrugged in response.

“Hey, I saw you last week. Yeah, you’re the kid that watches from the bleachers!”

“Oh, yeah! I remember now.”

“Say, kid, don’t you got any friends?”

Tony looked at them. In honest, he didn’t. But he nodded still. “Sure I do.”

A kid put a hand above his eyes, scoping out the area. “Then where are they?”

The game was purely for fun, and practice. No points, no awards, no stress. But, by the end of the game, when Jarvis came to meet Tony, leaning against the side of the fence, he stormed past him. Straight towards the car and he refused to look up.

“Tony,” Jarvis called out, darting after him. “ _Tony,_ ” he said again as Tony ripped off his hat, wringing it with both his hands.

Tony looked up at him. His nose was running and he sniffled. “Can we go?”

All Jarvis did was nod and opened the door for him. His expression was laced with concern, long frown worn across his lips. “Did you… not have fun?”

He sat down and leaned his elbow against the closed window. He didn’t respond.

Jarvis took the hat from him, setting it in the back seat before closing his own door and starting the car. “If you don’t want to continue, we don’t have to come back next week.”

He sniffed again, still looking towards the field. They announced they were going to grill after the game was done; they had hot dogs and burgers ready, a cooler of sports drinks and an array of condiments.

Tony pulled the headset off so fast, he felt like he’d ripped out his hair. No, he _definitely_ did take out a few strands. Jesus, his eyes stung, like someone had been kicking sand at him all day. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“That’s…” he didn’t realize how out of breath he was until he spoke. He shook his head. “That’s enough of that."

"Sir?"

"Don't— sir me right now, Jarvis." He quickly pushed himself up, grabbing the nearest coat he could find. Only now did he decide to slide into a new change of jeans (kept the shirt though). He grabbed his phone, fingers quickly opening Google Maps. “How bad’s the traffic from here to Anaheim right now, Jar?”

“Moderately busy if you take I-10. Tony, I don’t know if it’s a wise idea to go out when you’ve hardly slept for the—”

“ _Jarvis_. Nuh uh, none of that,” he warned, shoving his phone away and picking up a set of car keys that were beside his keyboard. “One moment you’re concerned about me staying inside too much, and now you’re concerned about me leaving.”

“Because you haven’t had anything of nutritional value since seven thirty last night and only a handful of cat naps.”

“You think I’m going to faint?”

“I’m suggesting you care for yourself once in a while.”

Tony’s eyes flickered to the back of his head. With the click of his tongue, he strutted up the stairs and outdoors, turning a sharp corner. Pepper’s car was still missing and his was right where he’d left it. He hopped in, rolled down the windows before starting the engine. The radio came on, and it was full of static, but anything was better than listening to Jarvis.

Because he knew he was right.

  


* * *

 

  


**Disneyland, Anaheim**

 

A churro in one hand and his other arm was stretched across the top of a wooden bench. Maybe he liked Disneyland because his dad was a friend of Walt’s (no surprise there, they both loved discussing the latest tech and sort of looked like they could have been related), or, and this was probably a better guess, but _maybe_ Tony still wanted to be a kid, deep inside. Wanted to recreate a childhood so he… actually had one.

He was sitting on the Mark Twain, traveling across the Rivers of America, watching as the sunset painted the sky above them; the moon in the distance and blue faded to deep purples and elegant yellows. He’d luckily caught the last go around for the boat that day.

It’s not like his disguises always worked, but it seemed like a baseball cap and a pair of Ray Bans that he hadn’t worn for a few months seemed to do the trick, more often than not. A baseball cap, truly, could do wonders.

So, yeah, he decided to practically speed his way to Anaheim so he could embark on a spontaneous Disney visit, because though he was good at avoiding his problems, he couldn’t go about avoiding them normally. Instead of procrastinating with a game of virtual solitaire, he had to go big and make his impromptu decisions as extravagant as possible.

Taking a bite of his churro and watching as a flock of birds flew above them, he felt his pocket buzzing. He worried his bottom lip, awkwardly pulling his phone out.

It was Pepper. Of course it was Pepper. He knew it’d be her. He _did_ kind of sort of ditched her anyways. He slid his thumb across the screen.

"Where are you?"

"What?"

"I went to go back downstairs to ask if you'd look at the wonky light upstairs, that's _still_ flickering, by the way, but you were gone. Also, I did your dishes, finally. Those mugs were disgusting, Tony."

“I’ll take a look at it when I get home. And, awh, Pep, you didn’t like my little gifts for you?”

“No. I gagged. _Three_ times.”

The steam from the engines released, and then a bell rang, loud and clear. Tony looked at Splash Mountain off in the distance, studied how people looked as they came down the ride; terrified, but happy. Kind of like how he felt on a daily basis.

"Are you— are you on a _boat_?"

"I'm just gonna be out for a few hours, Pep. I needed some fresh air." There was another blast of steam, and he put a finger to his ear. Pepper was still talking and he couldn’t hear anything she was saying, her words just adding to his growing headache.

“Sweetie, I’ll call you back later when I’m heading out, okay? I can’t hear anything.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Pepper sighed. “Okay, Tony. Have fun doing… whatever you’re doing.”

“You too. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

He was almost reluctant to get off the boat, even when they came to a full stop. The wind in his face and the smell of freshly baked sweets lingering in the air was enough to convince him to root himself to that seat. That word again, nostalgia. But there were was a nostalgic sense to Disneyland.

The tastes of the snacks he’d had countless times before and the rides he’d come to memorize all the scenes of.

His legs felt heavy, but he carried himself down the narrow stairs of the boat and threw away the handful of napkins he had, with the churro wrapper, once he was on deck. Maybe it was time to head out; he felt like an ass, because, why the hell didn’t he invite Pepper to go? But, he also wasn’t thinking before he left. He just knew he had to get out.

He could’ve waited until she got home and made nice dinner reservations at the Blue Bayou for them. Instead, he was at the happiest place on earth, alone, ignoring anything and everything that wasn’t right in front of him in that moment.

He passed through the end of New Orleans square and entered the wild west. He’d already gone on Haunted Mansion and Casey Jr’s Circus Train earlier. He preferred the people watching over ride hopping anyways.

Giving his phone another once over, his conversation with Pepper open, his finger twitching to write out some kind of apology that he owed her, he saw a set of wide eyes staring at him. He nearly walked face first into, none other than the big cheese himself: Mickey.

Mickey had his gloved hands to his mouth, waving them out before he left his arms open, an invitation for a hug. And, why the hell not, when an oversized mouse asks you for a hug, you _don’t_ deny him. It’s just common courtesy.

Another glance at the phone still in his hand and he pressed a button on the side down for a long second, before his camera opened.

“Do you mind?” He felt silly for asking, but of course the character was more than pleased, shaking his head and nearly bouncing from excitement. Tony’s grin was nearly as wide as the character’s was.

Another hug and Mickey was on his way. Tony quickly sent the selfie to Pepper.

 

**Pepper- 6:21 PM**

Unbelievable.

 

**Pepper- 6:22 PM**

Bring me back a churro at least.

 

Tony glanced towards the same cart he’d visited beforehand.

  


 

* * *

 

 

Tony wedged open their front doors with the heel of his foot. He had a bag strung around his forearm and clutch tight on a balloon in his other hand. And now, he’d long since replaced the baseball cap he left in for a pair of mickey ears that were themed after Iron Man.

See, it was shit like that that made the anxiety surge deep within his veins. Iron Man was marketable. He was profitable. He had an instantaneously recognizable color pattern. He could shoot lasers from his hands and fly as high as an airplane.

What could Tony do? Complain, whine, cry. Though, he did have a few party tricks up his sleeve; he knew the basics of juggling, that had to count for _something_.

“Hello?” Pepper called out from the living room, a plate of mostly picked apart dinner in her lap.

“One sec,” he said, tying the balloon to the leg of a chair. Then he made his way over to her. “Hey,” he leaned over her, kissing her for a long moment before dropping a massive Disneyland bag down on the table.

“What the _hell_ is that?” Then she looked at his ears. “ _Nice_. Very stylish.”

“Aren’t they?”

She hummed, eyes wrinkled in the corners.

“You’re not mad, right?”

“I wore heels all day. My feet would’ve _killed_ me if I walked around any more.”

“Anyways,” she gestured at the bag. “I just asked for a churro, Tony.”

He scoffed, pulling the handles apart. He pulled out another smaller bag, that was nothing short of a bouquet of churros; there were a dozen of them. The rest of the bag was shoved full of clothes and other smaller trinkets. Not by his choice.

He’d gone into a store to look for something for Rhodey, or Happy, as a last minute souvenir shopping opportunity. But now with his cap off, and his hat a little too obvious, his magic ability of blending in disappeared. A store attendant had approached him, all smiles, and then she called over her manager. They were both fans of him (or so they said), and that’s how he ended up with a bag, stuffed full of Disneyland themed shirts from their newest collection and unreleased pin sets. At least he knew Rhodey would appreciate some pins, he loved collecting those sort of things. Stamps, coins, rocks.

He handed Pepper the excessive amount of churros as he settled down next to her. She was obviously trying her best to hold back laughter, her face shades of surprise, but there was also something smug about the way she looked back at him. “Did you have a good time at least?”

His head rested against her shoulder, one of the plastic ears hitting her nose. “Okay, _alright_ ,” she hooked her finger around the strap of elastic that was under his chin, pulling the hat from his head and setting it aside. She combed her fingers through his locks.

“Yeah. Impossible not to have fun there. Just needed to get out though, didn’t really care _where_.”

“Are you sunburnt?”

“You know that’s the one thing I always forget.”

“The _one_?”

“ _One_ of the _many_ things I forget.”

She sniffed him. “You reek of Axe.”

“That’s my sad excuse of a shower, don’t judge it.”

“I _will_ judge it. Did you have dinner already?”

“Sort of. If you count two churros and the biggest mocha money could buy.”

“No. I don’t count that. Dinner, then shower, then bed.”

Tony stared at her. “Do I have any say in this?”

“Nope.”

  
  


* * *

 

 

Tossing and turning. What happens when Tony finally _does_ manage to get to sleep. Either his nightmares pull him awake in a sweaty panic, or he finds himself so restless, he can’t get comfortable enough to enter an enjoyable sleep.

So he admits to defeat and instead of tossing over for the twelfth time and accidentally kicking Pepper in the shins, Tony brought himself, and his laptop, downstairs. He settled in their living room, snacking on another churro with his laptop balanced atop his knees.

There was something he discovered; the ability of recording the memories he recalls. So now, he can record them and study them. Made it easier to explain what he meant to someone anyways.

With his laptop open, he pressed play.

It’s a video of another young Tony. He’s a bit older. He’s back for the holidays from his boarding school. There’s Christmas lights set up and a large tree set up near the foyer. Someone is in the kitchen cleaning dishes from dinner. His dad hadn’t come home yet.

Tony is still in the dining room, sitting at the table. He has a book open and his mom is sitting across from him, offering him a smile when he glanced up.

“I’m happy we get to have you home for a few days, honey.”

“Glad to be home too, mom— where’s dad?”

“I’m sure he’s just running late again. He said he had the day off tomorrow.”

Tony scoffed. “He should. It’s Christmas.”

She sighed. “Sweetheart, I know your father isn’t home much… but, he does love you dearly.”

Tony stared at her before he looked back down and turned the page. The silence lingered before she asked, “what’re you reading?”

He held up a book with a black cover, worn on the edges, with the bold letters of ‘Beyond Good and Evil’.

“Got it from dad’s library. It was collecting dust, so...”

She chuckled. “I remember that one. He’s your father’s favorite philosopher, you know.”

“Is he?” Tony asked, but with no interest behind the question.

He heard the door open, and his ears perked up. He set the book down, looking over his shoulder, his nerves tingling with a vague sense of excitement. But then he saw Jarvis, offering them a small wave.

Tony remembered he'd hear the keys rattling and door open, get all excited only to be let down as his dad would rush in, grab a coat and rush out.

“Evening,” he said, hanging his hat on the wall. “You don’t mind if I join you for Christmas eve, do you?”

“Oh, of course not, Ed. You know you’re as welcome here as any other family member. Is Ana with you?”

“No,” he laughed, “actually, she was preparing a turkey for the inlaws— her parents are coming to town tomorrow morning, but she tragically burnt it, you see, and sort of smoked out our house. So now she is trying to find the last open store that will sell her a half decent turkey, and I am trying to avoid the horrible fumes of our house.”

Tony abruptly stood up from the table, chair harshly squeaking against the floor. Book tucked under his arm, he headed upstairs and slammed the door shut to his room.

His room isn’t too big, but it was his safe haven. His favorite place that he hardly got to see now. He shared a bedroom at the boarding school with two other boys and was only allowed a small section of the room; his bunk and a dresser. He kept up posters of some science fiction movies next to his bed, but he didn’t bring much with him.

His room here was _his._ Dark blue carpet and cherry red walls. He had a bookshelf full of his own favorite books and a few trophies. On his bed was a pillow, among all his others, shaped like Captain America’s shield. He had matching sheets that depicted comic book drawings of the man.

He threw himself onto his bed, tossing the book on his nightstand. He buried his head under his pillows, when he heard a knock on the door.

“Tony?” a voice said, soft. He could recognize it was Jarvis.

He didn’t respond, so Jarvis took the liberty of letting himself in.

“Hi,” he said. Tony peeked over his shoulder as he heard Jarvis close his door. The only light in the room was a nightlight.

Tony only grunted back to him in response. His mattress dipped, and then Jarvis touched his back, running circles along it until he smoothed his hair.

“Your father’s busy. I caught him an hour ago, at the office. He seemed very—”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Okay. How about then,” Jarvis got up for a moment before he was sitting back down, a book in his hand, “The Giving Tree? A classic.”

“Isn’t that a baby book though?”

“A _classic,_ ” he echoed, laying himself on the bed beside Tony. He shuffled closed, resting his head beside his shoulder on his own pillow. Jarvis opened the book, and then he started, his voice calm and level.

_“Once there was a tree. She loved a little boy, and every day, the boy would come, and he would gather her leaves and make them into crowns, playing king of the forest.”_

There _was_ a time when Tony looked at his dad like he hung the moon and the stars. There was a time when he found his recitings of his heroic encounters with America's Golden boy thrilling.

Tony had always had a nanny growing up, still watched over by Rosita until he was fourteen, and that was a strong, vivid memory, burnt deep into his skull.

There were a few of them. Rosita was the one that'd stayed around longest, the one that Jarvis got along with best.

But, there'd been a time when he could recall the true color of his eyes. The way his voice lulled him to sleep when he'd sing lullabies.

He gave him everything he needed; a gorgeous house, with plenty of room to explore. He never had to worry about food, oftentimes picking what he wanted to eat was the harder task at home. If he ever wanted to go somewhere, he could. He’d traveled to six countries by the time he was five.

But, he was still missing _something_.

 

_“He would climb up her trunk, and swing from her branches. And when he was tired, he would sleep in her shade. And the boy loved the tree, very much._

_“The tree was happy. But time went by, and the boy grew older. The tree was often alone.”_

Tony shifted on the couch, leaning his elbow against a pillow. There'd been a time when all he felt for his dad was genuine love. When he didn't sit by his mom's side and ask why he wasn't coming home as much anymore.

He eventually stopped _asking_ , but never stopped wondering.

The younger Tony looked at Jarvis, and reflected even in his eyes was a shared, understood sadness. Though his voice wavered, he didn't stop.

_“Then one day the boy came to the tree, and the tree said, ‘Come boy, come and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches, and be happy’. ‘I am too big to climb and play’, said the boy. ‘I want to buy things and have fun. I want some money. Can you give me some money?'_

_“'I’m sorry', said the tree. 'I have no money. I have only leaves and apples. Take my apples, boy, and sell them in the city. Then you will have money and be happy.'”_

_“So the boy climbed up the tree and gathered her apples and carried them away. The tree was happy.”_

Money really was the cure-all to any situation. Except it wasn't, and the only joy money elicited was superficial.

Tony thought he could distract himself with alcohol and shiny things. He'd never had a serious girlfriend, never seriously considered it.

Barely had a shoulder to cry on if he needed it.

Jarvis flipped the page, slower.

_“But the boy stayed away for a long time, and the tree was sad._

_“Then, one day, the boy came back and the tree shook with joy, and she said: 'come, boy, come and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and eat my apples and be happy.'_

_“I am too busy to climb trees, said the boy. I want a house to keep me warm. I want a wife, and I want children, and so I need a house. Can you give me a house?_

_“I have no house. The forest is my home, said the tree. But, you may cut off my branches and build a house. Then you will be happy.”_

Present day Tony scratched at his neck, rubbing his nails against skin until the comforting ministrations turned to a raw ache.

It was easy to ignore. It wasn't easy to forget.

_“And so the boy cut off her branches and carried them away to build a house. And the tree was happy. But, the boy stayed away for a long time, and the tree was sad._

_“When he came back, the tree was so happy, she could hardly speak. 'Come boy', she whispered. 'Come and play'._

_“I am too old and sad to play. I want a boat that will take me away from here. Can you give me a boat? So, she said, ‘cut down my trunk and make a boat. Then you can sail away and be happy.’_

_“The boy cut down her trunk and made a boat, and sailed away. The tree was happy.”_

_“But, not really. After a long time, the boy came back again. I am sorry, boy, but I have nothing to give you. My apples are gone.”_

Though the Tony he watched was struggling to keep himself at bay, eyes threatening to shut, he couldn't be more awake in the present day.

His eyes were wide open, sweat beading down his nose and stomach in knots.

_“'My teeth are too weak for apples', he said.”_

_“My branches are gone. You cannot swing on them. But the boy said, 'I am too old to swing on branches'._

_“My trunk is gone. You cannot climb me. To which he said, 'I am too tired to climb'._

_“'I am sorry,' she said. 'I wish I could give you something, but I have nothing left. I am just an old stump. I am sorry…'”_

_“I don’t need very much now, just a quiet place to sit and rest. I am very tired.”_

_“'Well,' said the tree, straightening herself up as much as she could. An old stump is good for sitting and resting. 'Come, boy, sit down and rest'.”_

_“The tree was happy.”_

Tony fell asleep. Everything was a soft black. And then he woke up later in the night.

His door was cracked open, light from the hallway seeping in. And in the corner of his room was a chair, pulled in from some other room, Jarvis hunched over, dozing off.

Tony slammed his laptop shut, with almost too much force. But he was desperate. He could breathe, he couldn't _remember_ how.

Someone had dunked him in ice cold water and his hands were zip tied. Paralyzed.

The world was distant, and all he could do was allow himself to drift off. He couldn't pull himself forward, and he wasn't sure if anyone _could_.

“Tony,” Jarvis’ voice said. His voice was so similar to his, but still off.

“Oh, God,” Tony croaked, running his hands through his hair.

“Tony, please listen to me. Breathe. You’re all right.”

He couldn’t breathe. He kept gasping.

“Do you want me to breathe with you? You’re going to pass out if you don’t calm—”

“You’re not him, Jarvis. You’re not…”

He scrambled to find his footing, nearly tripping over himself as he stood. But he still managed to get himself outside and _not_ slam the door shut. Pepper was still asleep upstairs, and the last thing he wanted to do was make her worried. Because she already worried too much about him, and now, he could give her an actual reason to.

He nursed his phone like it was his lifeline, staring down at the screen, at his background picture of him and the people that mattered most to him; Pepper was squished against his cheek, Rhodey to his other side with an arm wrapped around his shoulder and Happy, who’d squeezed behind them so he could fit in frame. Though the top of his hair was still chopped off.

He knew Rhodey’s sleep habits compared to his. But he didn’t want to bother him. Rhodey's always been his rock, and maybe he depended on him too much sometimes, but it was about time he stopped giving a shit what others thought of him.

His hands couldn’t stop shaking, and he could taste the saliva building again in his mouth. His fingers twitched. He tapped on Rhodey’s name.

After one ring, he picked up. “Hello?”

Tony doesn’t respond for a second. He leaned against their front door, collapsing to his knees. He didn’t know what he wanted to say, couldn’t really speak to begin with in that moment. And more silence passed, before Rhodey said, “Tony, you there? Talk to me, man. I can hear you breathing. Don’t freak me out like that.”

“I…” he started, gasping. He looked up towards the sky.

“Are you drunk?”

“What? No,” he shook his head. “ _No_. Freaked out, is all.”

“Oh, shit, are you okay?” Rhodey’s voice grew softer, and Tony scratched at his neck. Everything hurt. His shoulder shot pain in the form of sharp shocks of electricity. His knees felt too weak for him to stand up again.

“Define ‘okay’.”

“Never stop being a smart ass though, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Do you need me to come over?”

“Please don’t,” his nails dug into the hem of his flannel pants. “No— Pepper is asleep and I, I don’t want her knowing.”

“Knowing that you’re freaking out?”

“Yeah.”

“Why not?”

“Between you and me- I haven’t been taking my meds, for months.”

“Jesus, Tony. It’s like you _want_ this shit to happen to you.”

“I don’t.”

“No, but you do. Because if it’s not this, how else are you gonna punish yourself? You don’t go out partying and drinking anymore.”

Tony took a sharp breath.

“Here, listen to me. I know what you should do.”

“What?”

“Write a note. Doesn’t have to be anything specific. Just write a note for her, tell her you’re with me, and come over to my place. It’s not like I was planning on sleeping anytime soon. Come on, still got that fold out couch.”

“How many apartments have you lugged that back and forth from exactly?”

He could hear him laughing. “Too many.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Tony nodded, not like he could see him. “Yeah. I’ll be there soon.”

“Good. I’ve missed seeing you, Tony.”

"I’ve missed you too.” Another short inhale, but he felt like he could finally breathe.

 


	3. Chapter 3

_Plop._

_plop._

Raindrops fell down the side of his window until they stopped, collecting and pooling, releasing as they swerved down curved patterns, battling in a meaningless race. It was a spectacle when it rained in California. At least when the rain brought a storm with it, like it had tonight.

The thunder was a low rumble, like a muted version of MGM’s intro before a movie. Each flicker of lightning was a camera going off, and Tony didn’t want to move from his seat. He was parked in the lot outside of Rhodey’s apartment complex, a box of stuff (and quite _literally_ , a box of stuff, because he had no idea what was in there) in the seat next to him.

He _wanted_ to get out. His car was the only one in the lot with its lights on. But, his muscles locked up. Everything was quiet, almost too quiet, and he wanted to savor that.

He knew Rhodey was waiting for him, probably wondering if he even managed to drive to his place safely. But he knew Tony was an asshole, and he _also_ knew that he had a lovely view of the lot from his apartment. He could’ve been watching Tony from his window, shaking his head, at least that's what he imagined him to be doing anyways.

He leaned against the window frame, glass chilled against his skin. Among the rain and the lights and the quiet, he saw something move, and not the branches of a tree. It was someone, umbrella in tow and slowly approaching his car. They grew closer, and he knew that form; slender, tall, a hoodie he recognized, something Rhodey’d been wearing since they first met.

There he was, grin contagious. He looked tired, worry visible, but Tony felt almost hyper to see him.

“You gonna get out? Or do I have to drag you out myself?”

Tony turned his keys, the lights dying, everything matching the outside atmosphere around them. Still sluggish, he finally pulled himself out, back cracking as he stood up straight. But then he looked at Rhodey, for a long, long minute.

Rhodey clapped him on the shoulder and Tony sucked in his lips. Without really thinking about it, he fell into his arms, Rhodey rubbing his back.

“Okay, alright, we can do this inside,” he said, struggling to cover them both with the umbrella. “Tony, come on, I just took a shower. I don’t need another.”

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


Rhodey’s apartment was a lot smaller than Tony remembered, but not any less homely. He hadn’t stayed over at his place in a long time; he couldn’t actually remember _when_ he’d last been there. There was a framed poster, hanging above where he stored his small collection of shoes (by collection, he just meant a pair of flip flops, sneakers and dressier loafers.)

As he stepped in further, he saw his couch pulled out, pillows and blankets piled atop. Sometimes he did miss this, but still, he _was_ happy he was living with Pepper.

He set his box down on a table, nudging Rhodey with his elbow. “You got any coffee?”

Rhodey looked at him, brow quirked. “This is _really_ giving me senior year flashbacks.”

“All nighters, procrastination and that same exact shitty couch?”

“It’s not that— you know what, never mind. You’re right, it is shitty.” He hung his head in defeat. “Yeah, I have coffee.”

Tony snorted. “You _didn’t_ have any plans to sleep, did you?”

“I have reasons _not_ to now.”

They’ve migrated to his kitchen. Tony leaned against the white countertop while Rhodey ground the remainder of the beans he had left in his freezer. Tony found himself glancing back towards the box he brought.

“You know,” he started, “I’m not really sure what’s in that.”

Rhodey took a look at the box himself. “But it says ‘Tony’s stuff’ on it.”

“You wouldn’t believe how many weird things I’ve found in my dad’s storage.”

“I would, actually. So, you’ve had that box how long?”

“Don’t know, maybe a few years. When did we kick Vanko’s ass?”

“ _That_ long? And curiosity hasn’t gotten the best of you?”

“I’m a very patient man when I choose to be, Rhodes. You know that.”

“Normally, I’d say you’re full of shit, but maybe there’s more I don’t know about you.”

“Where do I even start.”

Rhodey handed him a mug. “Now?”

“Now. Yeah. That works.”

 

 

* * *

 

  


They’re both sitting on the bed, and it was just as uncomfortable as Tony remembered it to be. He had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The mystery box wasn’t so much of a mystery anymore; there were letters and sketchbooks and photographs spread everywhere. Honestly, he didn’t know where this shit came from.

He pinched an old photograph between his fingers, sun faded. Jarvis had his hand placed against Tony’s back as his young child self straddled a bike, his forehead creased in concentration.

Setting the picture back down, among the stack of others, he laughed under his breath. “Rhodey.”

“Hm?” he lolled his head in his direction.

“Remember when you dressed up as… Batman?”

“Oh, jeez, Tony. What? How do you even remember that?”

With a devilish grin, he pulled out his phone, waving it at him. “Sorta have it saved, bud. Permanently.”

“ _Delete_ that,” Rhodey whined, arm stretched in an attempt to snatch his phone from his hold. But Tony only shook his finger and shooed him away.

“Need it for research purposes buddy, can’t do.”

“Wow. You’re actually the worst.”

“You finally admit it,” he playfully swatted his arm.

The closeness they shared, the vulnerability Tony could give Rhodey… that’d never went away. They’d met on Tony’s first day at MIT. Tony always took any new situation on head first, but deep down, he knew he was terrified.

Until he saw Rhodey. The only other person there that was his age. Forty seats, thirty three of them open, and Tony decided to sit next to the man.

Humor was Tony’s coping mechanism, but it was also what brought him and Rhodey together. The lecture was… well, boring, as first day introductions and getting use to the hang of how class will be is. And so Tony cracked sarcastic comments under his breath, mostly for his own entertainment.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the kid next to him cracking his sphynx like composure, snorting at his remarks.

“ _Rhodes_ ,” he’d said as he zipped up his shoulder bag, Tony looking at him with his brows raised.

“ _Sta_ — _uh_ , Tony.”

And that was that. They were attached at the hip.

Rhodey quickly became his rock.

During the lecture, Tony said something sarcastic under his breath and Rhodey couldn’t help but laugh. At the end of class, he introduced himself to Tony, and that was that. They were attached.

Rhodey quickly became his rock. And they’d formed a small friend circle; Rhodey was founder of the club, but then Happy soon joined. Tony ran into him one day at the school’s gym.

The other man’s face was flushed, his towel draped around his neck drenched with sweat. Tony offered him his water bottle, and like that, something that should’ve been nothing turned into a lifelong bond.

He finally had friends for the first time.

Tony never liked going home for the holidays anymore, because it really was always the same. His parents would be planning a vacation somewhere else, or he’d only see his dad when he’d drop him back off at the airport. After his parents died, Rhodey invited him to come home with him for holidays. He spent New Years and Christmas with the Rhodes family. He’d spent a few fourths with Happy. The three of them spent Spring break together; trips to Cancun and partying for days on end.

Rhodey had met his parents a few times, but he was always embarrassed to have anyone over. His dad put on a good show, he’d introduced himself to Rhodey but then it was back to ‘Maria, where is this, come _on_ , I have to go’.

“Hey, I remember sending that to you.” Rhodey was holding a letter. It was wrinkled from age and some of the corners were ripped. It was after they graduated and Tony had acquired Stark Industries.

Rhodey had went into the military, and it was strange. They couldn’t see each other every day, or weekend, like they were used to. They shared a dorm for a bit, in their freshman year, until they decided it was probably best if they didn’t for reasons they vowed to never rehash again.

They’d sent letters back and forth to each other. Emails were still incredibly slow, and it wasn’t like Rhodey always had the ability to just jump on a computer anyways. They called as much as they could, but there was something so much more personal about handwritten letters.

Sometimes Tony would send him actual postcards, or attach weird things he’d clipped from the newspaper.

“Did you keep all of them?”

“Maybe not all, but, most.”

Rhodey picked up another, mouthing some of the words before he read it out loud. “Tony, I don’t know what time it is for you right now, but I couldn’t sleep,” then he said, “ _relatable_ ,” before continuing, “and I can’t stop thinking about how badass it would be if we could be partners in business. I could be vice president… wait, you are the president right? Imagine if you ever became the president.” He looked at Tony. “Now, that’d be something.”

“A disaster, you mean.”

“You’re too hard on yourself sometimes, Tony. It wouldn’t be that bad.”

“Don’t know about president, but I’ve given out enough grants to be awarded the title of knock off Oprah.”

They look through more things. He flipped through an old sketchbook. He’d picked up the hobby of drawing when he was younger to distract himself when he had nothing else to do, or needed to pass time. Boarding school was boring. No one to talk to, and he always got his homework done earlier than anyone else.

He flipped open to a page where he did a drawing of him and Rhodey, based off a vague memory he had. He remembered drawing it; it was after Rhodey had been promoted and Tony took a redeye from Moscow just to be there for him. On the plane back, he’d sketched that down.

“You really know how to get my good side.”

“Only have the best to work with.”

He gave him a playful shove. “Stop.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

He got home that afternoon. They have a cork board near the front door, where they usually leave little notes for each other. Pinned on top of his note was a neon yellow sticky note that read, ‘Hope your slumber party was fun. Love you, see you tonight’, topped off with a small heart.

He lowered the note, took a step forward. His chest tightened. He almost took a whole damn step back when he saw another set of eyes staring at him. Eyes attached to a certain redhead, standing in the threshold to his living room. Dressed in regular clothes, something Tony _wasn't_ use to, her hair tied back.

“Can I help you…? I’m pretty sure I remember this being _my_ home, not a bed and breakfast for superheroes.”

He peered past Nat, seeing Happy behind her, arm spread across the top of the sofa. He was watching something, lightly chuckling to himself.

“Hey,” he called, looking over her shoulder. When he still wasn’t looking back at him, he groaned and tried again, “Yo, Mr. Carson, talking to you.”

He glanced at him, putting a hand to his ear.

“Did you let her in?”

“Yeah. Sorry boss, she said it was important.” Then he went back to whatever he was watching. He wasn’t sorry.

“Is it? Is it so important you had to commit a b&e?”

“One, this isn’t a b&e. If I broke into your house, you’d never know it. And, to answer your question, yes, it is. Fury sent me this,” she pulled out a folder, two tickets to New York sticking out of it. “We need you, Stark. Duty calls.”

“ _Great_.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Undisclosed location in Manhattan, New York**

 

 

Though the front of the building was still an undesirable wreck, the Stark Tower was still home to the Avengers headquarters. Enough rooms for everyone and easy to get to. It worked for now while their new building was currently being constructed.

The traffic in Manhattan was outrageous. Except, it wasn’t because it was seven in the evening on a Friday, and they’d pulled up right into rush hour. The whole trip just felt insufferable because, now there was no radio in this damn taxi, no melodical relief Tony could turn to, and though he knew Nat the most out of any of the other Avengers, it’s not like he knew how to talk to her still.

He drummed his fingers against his thigh, until he finally said, “How’s Barton?”

“He’s fine.”

“Any ideas on the wedding date?”

She looked at him, amusement in her eyes but lips pursed. “Last week, actually. You didn’t get the invite?”

“Wait, _what_?” he looked at her dumbfounded before she laughed, shaking her head.

“When’s yours?”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t tell me you and Pepper haven’t talked about that before.”

“Oh, no, we have. But we’re not ready for… that level of commitment yet.”

“You mean you aren’t.”

“Yeah. I’m not.”

More minutes of insufferable silence pass, before they arrive at the place Tony once thought would be suitable as a home. A home, 200 feet in the air. The idea almost made his stomach churn now.

“Hey you two,” Maria’s, somehow always cheerful looking, face greeted them as they stepped on concrete for the first time in hours. “This way, please.”

Sometimes he forgot just how massive this place was, but the constant dings of the elevator chiming _really_ reminded him.

“Follow me,” he said, gesturing with her arm down a hallway. They enter a room they’d regularly used as their meeting space and Steve is already there, leaning over a table with files spread across it. He looked at Tony, offering him a nod before his eyes bounced back to what he was looking at.

Steve looked rough, bags under his eyes and hair overgrown and scraggly. He looked tired, and he was in his normal clothes; a navy blue leather jacket and a pair of khaki pants.

“So,” Steve said, low, as they walked over. “We’ve got a lead on a warehouse possibly being used as a drug trafficking hang out spot for the CIA. Though, they may have tie ins with Hydra.”

“What’s the difference?”

Steve looked at him through his lashes. “Not everyone involved in the government is bad. Hydra is.”

“Where is it?” Natasha picked up a photo.

“Jersey City.”

“Who else is involved in the mission?”

“Well, with Thor still being MIA and Banner on an extended vacation, I’d say just us three. Unless you think Clint wants in.”

“Did you ask him?”

“I was hoping you would.”

Natasha snorted. “You have his number too, Rogers.”

“He never texts me _back,_  Nat.”

Tony interrupted. Steve and Natash had become somewhat of good friends. He never fit into that. “Is Fury here?”

“He’s coming back. He had to go run a quick errand,” Maria said.

“Errand… I’m guessing that doesn’t mean picking up a gallon of milk.”

She smiled at him.

As Steve kept talking and going over plans, Tony glanced down more and more at his phone. Natasha smacks him on the wrist. He looked at her, but she only frowned.

He glanced down at his screen again and that’s when Steve huffed, slapping his hands down on the table, causing papers to flutter.

“For God's sake Stark, pay attention. We’re _working._ ” But then Steve’s own phone buzzes and he closed his eyes, letting out a breath from his nostrils. He pulled it out, but the color from his face drained and he muttered ‘shit’ to himself.

“Take, uh,” he shook his head, “take five. We can wait for Fury to come back, I…” Steve muttered, leaving the room, phone pressed to his ear.

“What the hell was that?”

Natasha shrugged.

“God, really, what did my dad see in that guy?”

“Somebody has daddy issues,” she whispered back, to which he only rolled his eyes.

“Who _doesn’t_ is the better question. And speaking of my dad—”

“Oh lord. How did I fall for that one.” Natasha looked at him. “Pepper told me what you’re doing.”

“Gonna have to be more specific on that one.”

“Trying to remember what your dad was like. It’s not like I ever met him, but I know Nick well enough to know that, while he doesn’t exactly tell the full truth, he isn’t much of a liar either.”

He scoffed. “That’s a hard one to believe.”

“He wasn’t that bad of a guy, Stark.”

“And he never told me he loved me.”

“It’s been what, fifteen years since he died?”

“Twenty two, but who’s counting.”

“Twenty two years and you still hold that shit over his head.”

“Because he was never there when I needed him. At least my mom cancelled her plans to come to my own damn birthday parties. And where was he? Half away across the world, even a phone call was rare from him.”

“You need to forgive him.”

He laughed, hard. “That’s rich.”

“No, it’s not. You’re going to be hung up on this for the rest of your life if you don’t. Do you really want that? To be obsessed with the man you say you hate more than anything?”

“I can’t forgive him.”

She sighed. “Listen, I’m not here to play therapist. But I gotta know why.”

“Why? Because he didn’t even try.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because then he… he would’ve shown up. He would’ve been better.”

“Do you think you’re better than him?”

“Excuse me?”

“Answer it. Do you always try your best?”

“In regards to what?”

“Anything. The Avengers, your company, your relationships.”

Tony shut his mouth tight. “In the past, no. But, I think I’m getting there now.”

“And do you forgive yourself for not always trying your best in the past?”

“I just try to not think about it.”

“Listen, your whole,” she gestured, “the book you’re writing. That’s about yourself, right? You’ve been trying to figure out _who_ you are?”

“Does Pepper exclusively gossip about me to you, or what? This feels like some sort of interrogation.”

Steve came back into the room, looking paler than before and his eyes were red.

Natasha whispered to him, “everyone else but you can see it— you’re trying so hard to _not_ become your dad, that you’re becoming exactly like him. Stop trying to figure out who you were, or are, or could be, and figure out who you aren’t.”

“So, Jersey?” Natasha said with a smirk, Steve grinning back at her sheepishly.

  


* * *

 

 

**Five days later**

  
  


Tony, with a fresh cut on his forehead and bandages dotted with blood, threw himself into his studio. First thing he wanted to do, only minutes back in California. Because he… he _got_ it.

Banging his hand on his desk, Dummy swerved around to face in his direction, the lights in the room slowly turning on.

“I got it,” he announced.

“Welcome back, sir. How was your vacation?”

“Great. Blew up a building, almost got blown up _with_ it, but that’s not important,” he pulled over the chair from his desk and planted himself down, arms draped across the back of it. “I _got_ it.”

“Meaning?”

“I’ve been trying to find answers to a,” he waved his hand, “question that doesn’t exist.”

“ _Meaning_?” he stressed.

“Who I am is me— I already _know_ who I am. It’s that I want everyone to see who I’m _not_.”

“And that is?”

“Someone that gives a shit what anyone thinks about me anymore.”

Tony wasn’t sure if he was just hallucinating it, but he _swore_ Jarvis gave him a slow clap.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Six months later**

  


Tony shifted his weight onto his other leg, slightly rocking back and forth. He clutched his phone to his ear. It was the night of _his_ celebration, because they’d just received the first batch of his book, the _official_ and final edition.

Yet, he avoided the warmth of the party and instead opted to stand on his patio, fingernails scratching at the brick railing that separated him from falling face first into the ocean. At least the crashing of the waves below him was soothing. In a way.

One ring, two, and then they cut off, and Tony could hear static. “Hey buddy,”

“Tony! I’m glad my connection isn’t total shit here. Didn’t know if I’d be able to reach you tonight, you know, with you being the life of the party.”

Tony laughed. “Yeah, well, the life of the party is currently cowering on his porch.”

“Too many people?”

“Yeah. And it’s so loud, I can’t even hear myself think. And you know how much I love to do that.”

“Maybe you should give that a try for once. The whole not thinking thing.”

“Funny.”

“Hey, listen man. I’m sorry I can’t be there. Really wish I could.”

“You’re here in spirit. I considered getting one of those cardboard cutout things made of you, but… Pepper decided against it.”

Rhodey laughed. “Probably for the better. I don’t think you’d want one of those around the house.”

“Sure I would. Could dress you up for every season.”

“ _Fun_. No, I actually wanted to say,” the static returned for a moment, then Rhodey got louder. “Just got back to our room and there was a package sitting on my bunk.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Covered in Stark Industry stickers.”

“Hm,” he scratched at his chin. “Wonder who that could be from.”

“No clue. But I think I’ll take a wild guess.”

“Have you opened it yet?”

“No, literally just sat down.”

“ _Good_. Don’t do anything yet. I’m gonna call you on Skype.”

“What, you didn’t put a glitter bomb in there, did you?”

“Better than that. Hold on, don’t go anywhere and _don’t_ open it yet.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

He hung up the call and quickly clicked Skype open on his screen, scrolling to his starred contacts, calling Rhodey. Holding his phone a good few inches away from his face, he waited as Skype rung out.

Then— there he was, his (pixelated) Rhodey. He was sitting on his bed, legs crossed, and he could see he still had his uniform pants on, dog tags hung from his neck.

“Hey!” Tony waved at him.

“Hey man,” Rhodey flashed him a smile that was worth _more_ than a million dollars. “Show me around. I wanna see what the party’s like.”

“It’s actually been fun. I just,” he clicked on the screen, flipping his camera, “needed a break.” Through the large glass windows of his house shone a warm light. People were lingering about, talking, some slowly swaying back and forth to what Tony could only imagine was playing.

He caught Pepper’s eye off in the distance, but she just gave him a small smile and puckered her lips, feigning a kiss.

“I get it. Sure everyone else does too. Turn it back around, I want to see you again.”

Tony’s face came back into focus, and Rhodey was back to smiling. “You’re looking spiffy tonight.”

Tony sucked in his cheeks. “What? This ‘ol thing?” he glanced down; he was wearing a cream colored button down, accompanied by a paisley vest.

“Yeah. You look good when you actually dress up.”

Tony _wanted_ to roll his eyes, but with the intensity behind that urge… was it really worth giving himself a headache? “Well, it was Pepper’s idea. I wanted to go more business casual… you know— sandals, maybe some cargo shorts. Was gonna top it off with one of those Hawaiian shirts.”

“That would’ve been… it would’ve been a look.” Rhodey shifted around and set his phone down on his bed.

“Damn right it would’ve been,” he winked. “Anyways.”

“ _Anyways_.”

Tony looked at the package sitting in front of Rhodey.“You gonna open it, or are you just going to stare at it?”

“You ready for me to?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” he gestured. “I’ve been waiting all week to see your reaction.”

Rhodey looked up at him. “Send me something good then?”

“Maybe.”

Rhodey teasingly shook the box but Tony made a choked noise. “ _Hey_ , that’s cheating. Come on, open it properly.”

“Fine, hold up.” He sprung up from his bunk, coming back with what looked to be a box cutter. He stabbed the knife into the tape and dragged it down. He pulled back the top flaps and Tony could see dark purple tissue paper. “You really wanted to keep the suspense up, huh?”

“Just keep opening it.”

Rhodey pulled back the tissue paper. There was a card on top of everything. Tucked inside the box was a package of Disney trading pins (Lilo and Stitch, Rhodey’s preferred choice of Disney poison), a few of Rhodey’s favorite chocolate bars (Cadbury), and then he pulled out a rectangular something, also wrapped in tissue paper.

“This what I think it is?”

“What are you _thinking_ it is?”

Rhodey smiled at him, and Tony couldn’t help but reciprocate the look. Rhodey started to slowly peel back tape and rip open the tissue, when the cover of his book was revealed.

The cover was a sleek silver, with dark red accents and gold lettering. The picture on the cover of the book was a deconstructed model of an Iron Man mask, with the wire understructure visible.

“This looks great, Tony. Seriously. Wow,” he traced his thumb over the book.

“Open it,” Tony nearly whispered. “First page.”

“Alright,” Rhodey said and obliged. He flipped back the cover and landed on the dedication page. “To my inspirations, because I wouldn’t be where I am without you all.” He watched as Rhodey’s eyes traveled down the page. “James Rhodes, aka my best friend. PS, war machine rocks.”

“Flip to the last page now.”

“What? I haven’t even read it yet, man!”

“Please,” Tony scoffed. “It’s important. Trust me.”

“Fine.”

Tony watched him in anticipation. He’d filled the last few pages with photos, like a scrapbook, some of him and Rhodey from college, with beers in tow. There was another with Tony, his arm thrown around his shoulders. Happy still had a mullet there.

There were some photos Tony had dug out, when his mother hired a professional photographer to take pictures of them for holiday cards.

He held his breath as Rhodey turned to the very last page. That same drawing they’d look at together was photocopied and blown up to fill the entirety of the page.

Rhodey’s face was like a sea of emotions; first his chest puffed, slow as he let out air through his flaring nostrils. He blinked, licking his lips, and he caught the quiver of his chin. He didn’t look back at Tony. “That’s great,” he almost sounded hoarse. Then he said, even quieter, “I’m really proud of you.”

Tony glanced away, before he noticed Rhodey finally looking up at him. “Hey, I’m proud of you too. I’m gonna see you soon, right?”

“Of course. Next month’s October.”

“Right. Alright, on that note, I gotta go. Think I hear Pepper calling for me.”

“‘kay. Have fun. Keep sending me pictures, it makes me feel like I’m there.”

“You _are._ I told you that.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling.

“Talk to you later, Rhodey.”

“Wait, Tony.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, I’m biased because I’ve known you longer than one person probably should know someone. But, you really do have a big heart. Can you see that now?”

“No,” he looked toward the shoreline, gazed at the stars twinkling above him. “But, I think maybe the rest of the world can.”

“You’ll get there someday.”

Tony looked at him. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“Oh boy. What are the conditions?”

“I’ll accept that I… have a heart, if you _promise_ iron patriot will never see the light of day again.”

“You know what, for you, man? Deal.”

“That’s my Rhodes.”

“War machine _was_ cooler anyways.”

“Damn right it was.”

 

* * *

 


End file.
